


What You Do to Me

by orphan_account



Category: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Burlesque, Dancing, F/M, Friendship, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Game of Thrones AU, Kindling Romance, Nine the Musical, Power Play, Rough Kissing, Sansa is badass and an actress, Sexual Tension, Smut, Theatre Director Petyr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr Baelish is an extremely sucessful director in London, owning the infamous Mockingbird Theater. Many desire him and want to work for him. Petyr's most recent choice of production, Nine, brings in the person he had never thought he'd see again: his neice Sansa Stark. Fighting to submit to his need and desire for her, Petyr might not be able to shake what Sansa does to him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Try Me

**Author's Note:**

> Yes to more Petyr x Sansa. I thought I would write an AU to fill in my GOT show and book void :) Let me know what you think!! And check out my other fic Towards Darkness. *plugging away shamlessly in a corner* thank you, lots of love.

The Mockingbird was the most extinguished theater in all of London. Operated for years by the elusive Petyr Baelish, the theatre district erupted upon The Mockingbird's successful few years. It was an old theatre, but had classic beauty adorned with baroque arches swooping up and around. Between the arches, were angelic paintings, recreations of famous art displayed above. Its grandeur was overall opulent and lushly decorated. Petyr expected his actors and clients to represent these qualities as well but often felt disappointed.

This year the Mockingbird was showcasing the musical Nine for its Spring season. Casting calls for his leads and supporting roles were tonight and Petyr dreaded the terrible auditions as much as he savored the gifted ones. Musicals can be tricky, because of their vocal and dance performance. An actor had to be trained in both areas for Petyr to even consider for his show.

Nine was sexy, exuberant and Petyr had very high expectations for his female roles. He had anticipated the same women auditioning: Ros, Miranda, Laila...all the same petty disagreements and fights between them. Petyr was hoping for fresh talent, after being a theater director for several years, he craved it.

Petyr stepped through the doors to his theatre. Before him seated were nearly a hundred faces bearing nervousness, haughtiness, unpreparedness; nothing he hadn't seen before. He walked stealthily to the stage through the shadows, each foot step on the side stairs echoing in the grandness of it all. His steps were heavy, though his feet skimmed the ground. He wore sleek, black slacks, a tucked in pale blue dress shirt buttoned with a few undone at the top. Seeing through his sunglasses, Petyr surveyed the women in front of him, recognizing several faces with a combination of a few new. His eyes only stretched as far as he was allowed with the lighting, as there were others he could not study. _Yet_.

Petyr was suave and sophisticated, and he spoke with a deep huskiness. "Good evening ladies, you are all here to audition for one of my favorite musicals: Nine. This musical consists of two acts with a very well rounded group of roles for you, ladies. It will run for two weeks. Please note that these short performances tonight do require you to sing _and_ dance. As you should already know. You have five minutes each, I suggest you use your time, and mine, wisely.

Out of his pocket, Petyr unfolded a crinkled list of names. "Alright then, Ros, if you please..."

Petyr slipped off the stage with his hands in his pockets, slowly sauntering off to sit in the furthest seat away from the stage in the theater. Ros waited until he sat down, accustomed to his habits and demands.

It took a few hours for every one to try out; some Petyr outwardly disliked and permitted them of returning to his stage, others he ignored and a few he had considered as possibilities.

As he was about to conclude, a young woman with striking red hair emerged from the middle of the seats to the stage. He'd recognize that shade anywhere, but why would she be here. She floated across the stage. "Mr. Baelish, I am not on your list, but I will now be auditioning for the role of Claudia. At your permission of course, _Uncle_." She hesitated, understanding that she had broken his first rule. No one auditions without signing their name. She was Petyr's exception.

 _Sansa. Holy shit, it's been years. Lysa... my wife... is now dead... I guess that still makes me her uncle..._ Petyr cringed. She was immaculate. Sansa wore an all black, low-cut loose fitting dress that accentuated her long legs and tall frame. Petyr could not believe it was her, he removed his sunglasses, struck by her appearance and sheer beauty. _But does she have talent? Petyr, you're gawking, contain yourself.._

"Sansa Stark, please do continue."

Miranda stood up facing him. Even though she was far away, Petyr could see how livid she was. "Petyr, you seem to have forgotten that she has not-"

"I am very well aware, Miranda. I think I can make an exception, for my niece." Petyr stressed that they were related. Despite his obvious attraction to her, Petyr would never indulge himself so visibly in public. _Christ, how old is she? Eighteen, nineteen?_ She's beautiful, breathtaking... Petyr audibly sighed.

Petyr's thoughts were immersed with Sansa, swirling in his head that he had not realized Miranda was not through with speaking. "-don't see how this is fair. She is nobody, she's never been here before and clearly has no talent."

"I'll see for myself, Miranda. Now sit down and be quiet, that is if you still want a role in this production." Petyr hissed.

"Yeah shut it, Miranda." added Ros.

"Enough ladies. Sansa, since you have already broken one of the rules for The Mockingbird, I will be choosing your song to sing."

"I um, what if I don't know it, sir?"

"Call me Petyr, Sansa. Trust me, if you want to play Claudia, you should know it." A small part of Petyr was at least hoping she would. Petyr laid back in his chair, preparing to prove to everyone the mistake of being unprepared in his theatre. His arms were folded, his legs outstretched into the aisle. With no intention of moving, Petyr spoke again. "Sansa, I want you to sing Unusual Way. _" I have her._ Petyr bit his lip and broke into a wicked smile.

Sansa's eyes widened, yet not of fear. It was almost a revelation. "Thank you. That song has always been my favorite." Petyr was surprised but did not show it. _Her favorite._

Sansa stepped into the spotlight and began ethereally.

In a very unusual way  
One time I needed you  
In a very unusual way  
You were my friend  
Maybe it lasted a day  
Maybe it lasted an hour  
But somehow it will never end  
In a very unusual way  
I think I'm in love with you...

Petyr's body responded in accordance with Sansa's sweet voice, his legs bent and stood up. As she sang, Petyr shuffled down the aisle, his eyes not once leaving her cerulean blue eyes. Transfixed, Petyr stopped by the edge of the stage looking up at her. Sansa had noticed him near as she held her note on the word 'love'. Petyr glanced at his surroundings quickly, keeping his body still. It was then Petyr abruptly held up his hand and yelled for Sansa to stop just as she soothingly breathed out the last 'you'.

It was silent for a few beats. "But, you said we had five minutes." Sansa's voice was shaking. "I can try a different key, but I am confident in-"

Miranda laughed hysterically over Sansa's meek voice. "He stopped you, little one. He's never gotten up from his seat during a performance. _Never_." She relished in Sansa's apparent failure.

"She's right, girl." Petyr was looking down to the floor, avoiding her eyes. 

"Call me _Sansa_ , Petyr. Try me." Sansa was determined to ignore the jests of the others and simultaneously afraid of his reaction to her outburst. She was mocking him and he knew it.

Petyr's eyes reluctantly met hers once more. He silently walked up the steps to meet her center stage. Sansa stood solid and unmoving, partly due to her stubbornness and worry. She could not interpret his face, it was emotionless. Sansa's breath shook and became ragged as he moved in very close. The few of those who stayed in their seats watched Petyr and Sansa intently, waiting to see how Petyr would react. Or rather erupt.

 _She's feisty_. "Try me, huh Sansa? This audtition requires a dance portion as well." He smirked noticing her discomfort. He brought his hand behind her back, gripping her flush to his chest. "Imagine I am Guido Contini, you are Carla, my mistress. Prove to me, with your motions that you _want me_. Dance."

His arm was still wrapped around Sansa's back, his hand grasped her waist tightly with aggression mixed with desire. Sansa was uncomfortable, _he's my uncle... Yet, only be marriage._   _Why doesn't anyone else think this unsusual?!_ She looked at his face illuminated by the harsh, spotlight from above. He looked like he was in his late thirties, his hair peppered with gray on the sides while the rest of his dark brown hair had been slicked back. They were near in height, she could feel his calm, mint breath on her face. He exuded charisma and sex appeal, and it made Sansa feel hot from the light and from his flirtations. She soon became furious at him, for relentlessly trying to find her inadequate.

"I am not auditioning for Carla, your mistress. Please let me go."

Her demand hung in the air, without Petyr's response. Sansa's head spun to the small crowd, desperate for any help whatsoever. Petyr only looked amused, his women abided by his second rule: _If I get involved with someone on stage, never disrupt_.

Petyr released his arm, turned away and muttered so only she could here, "I thought so."

Without thinking, Sansa automatically stepped forward forcefully grabbing a chair, hiked her leg up highly to bring his shoulder and body to face her. She pulled his hands with hers, bringing him close once more, fire in her eyes. "Watch me", she whispered in his ear, grazing it. She grabbed his shoulders, and threw him onto the chair as she straddled him. "Music" she commanded.

Petyr swallowed hard. But nevertheless, smiled at her to piss her off further. He was not expecting her to go this far, but he certainly wasn't complaining. As the music started, Sansa got off of Petyr and danced to the Burlesque song chosen for the women who moved past the singing part of their call. Sansa danced around his chair, her hair swayed and her hips rhythmically moved with the song. Petyr remained still, but his eyes grew dark and he drank in her every move. Entranced once more, Petyr knew what he had to do. Sansa's time was almost up, sensing she had the upper-hand over him briefly, she sat on him and started to grind against him slightly so he would feel pressure. She reached her hand back to mess his hair, and before Petyr's hands unwittingly flew to her waist, she slid off him and ended her dance. She eyed him briefly, and curtsied to the stage.

A few cheered, and Ros clapped and yelled loudly. "Yes girl!!"

Sansa smiled shyly, and walked off the stage sitting next to Ros whispering.

Petyr fixed his hair, trying to seem as if Sansa's little show had not affected him so much, but he was sure she felt his cock stirring as she slid off of him. _Dammit_. His cock ached in his slacks, and he needed more.

"Ladies, thank you. I will be posting my decisions tomorrow at 10 AM, I will not be having call backs. I believe my decisions are mostly made. You may go." Petyr stood to the edge of the stage, slumped down and sat, his legs hanging over.

Petyr was about to call Sansa over to speak to her alone, when his stage manager Olyvar eagerly ran to her from behind stage and approached her. "Holy shit, Sansa Stark, you are my fucking hero, you know that!" Petyr watched as Olyvar continued talking animatedly to Sansa, and followed her, Ros and Miranda leaving the theater. Once everyone was gone, Petyr's hand moved to his pants and he grunted.

Outside the theater, Olyvar continued. "Wow, you really showed him, sweetie. I bet he's trying to get off right now, jesus."

Sansa blushed, redness filling her cheeks. "Olyvar, lay off her", added Ros. "But he is right, Sansa. You were hot and Petyr knew it, even though he would never admit it. I wonder what part you will get."

Miranda who was silently fuming, worried she would no longer be Petyr's muse, fought down their compliments. "I disagree with the two of you. Sansa is a young, naive what seventeen year old girl who clearly was cut off from singing and Petyr gave no indication he was moved by her little dance routine. And I know him best." 

Olyvar muttered, "I think we can all guess which _long_ part of Petyr had moved." He and Ros giggled, while Sansa still hadn't spoken at all, blushing profusely. Miranda snapped at them, and said "Enough of it. We'll see what happens tomorrow." She walked ahead of them, and pushed through the double doors into the street.

Sansa finally said "I am not really sure what came over me, but I liked the freedom...the ability.." She paused, "to do what I want." Ros rubbed her arm, comfortingly. "Of course! Come on, let's get dinner together and talk some more. I'm sure we'll be working together." 

Sansa followed Ros and Olyvar out of The Mockingbird, smiling and hopeful.

* *

The next morning, Petyr had posted his cast list on the doors to his locked theater. People rushed in enthusiastically, frantically scanning the sheet to find their name. Most shook their heads in disappointment or frustration and left immediately. One woman stated "He chooses the same people. _All the time_." Sansa walked over worriedly but people still were crowding the doors. _I have never acted before, or been in one of his plays. I am not the 'same people'._

Sansa heard Ros's familiar voice ahead of her. "Aaand I'm the prostitute." Olyvar replied "Had a feeling." She laughed and elbowed him in the stomach. Ros saw her struggling to get through, and she grabbed her hand. "Come on, love, take a look." Ros guided Sansa closer to the front, but Miranda pushed her. She shrieked "I knew it!! Miss Louisa Contini." She was overly joyful until her face scowled into a grimace, eyeing Sansa and leaving the crowd.

Sansa's index finger traced the page, searching for her name.

Guido Contini..... Harold Hadryng

Louisa Contini.... Myranda Royce

Clara ................ Ros Valeria

Claudia ............. Sansa Stark

Sansa couldn't believe it. She broke into a wide smile and bear hugged Ros and Olyvar. "We're so happy for you!!" Olyvar assured Sansa. "Rehearsals start so soon, sweetie, I'm glad we're working together." Ros added.

The crowd dissapated until it was just the three of them. Sansa was speechless and so giddily happy. Her eyes flickering to her name on the page and back to Ros and Olyvar's humorous conversations. As they were about to walk out, she suddenly heard someone's footsteps beckoning her over. Petyr.

"Sansa, a word, please. Olyvar and Ros, I will see you tomorrow morning." Petyr made it clear he only needed Sansa. He let his stone, emotionless face curl into a smirk once he saw Ros and Olyvar turn around saying goodbye to her. "Sansa, Sansa, Sansa. What am I going to do with you, breaking so many of my rules." He held out his hand, leading her into his office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the link to Unusual Way, as this song inspired this fic. I do not own this :) https://youtu.be/Plcij9c9tX0


	2. What Do You Think You're Doing?

"Sansa, Sansa, Sansa. What am I going to do with you, breaking all of my rules?"

She looked more lovely in the daylight. She was wearing an emerald green off-the-shoulder sun dress, revealing her toned arms. The dress rested above her knees. It looked very sophisticated, yet casual; she was a walking paradox continually intriguing Petyr.  

Petyr held out his hand for hers to hold, ushering her into his office. Sansa lightly touched his hand, unknowingly and mystified, _how am I supposed to act around him without being able to perceive him? He is a puzzle that is seemingly missing a piece, yet acclimated with its absence._

Sansa couldn't help but wonder if another piece was able to fit, or that he was forever broken or split unable to entwine with another. _I'm sure I'll find out._

His office was was immaculate. Reflective of the designs within the theater, was not ostentatious but tastefully decorated. With years worth of care and preserving, his office was unlike any other she'd seen. It seemed that Petyr appreciated privacy, his windows were closed, laced gray drapes hiding them. Despite his usage of basic colors, Petyr embellished his space with splashes of jewel-toned colors in his couch, pillows and curtains. In the corner, diagonal from his desk, was a a separate room. Through its slight opening, Sansa could see it was a bedroom. _Does he sleep here_? She thought, _he must never leave. This is his life._

"Sansa, what do you think you're doing?"

The question was so general, unspecific. Sansa hadn't an idea what exactly he was referring to. Her nosily observing every detail of his office, her randomly appearing in his life, her auditioning for the musical... There were so many possibilities.

She shrugged, "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play coy with me, you're my niece. Your little show yesterday..." It was a statement not a question. It made Sansa exasperated, _he made me dance! His arms tightly wound around my lower back..._

"I, are you serious? You told me there was a dance portion. You know I was acting, how was I supposed to know that..that you..." She didn't want to finish, _enjoyed it? Hated me? Both at the same time?_ She couldn't really tell.

"That I, what?" He was toying with her and he was enjoying himself. He wore a smug smirk on his face.

"You know very well that you felt something." Sansa shyly avoided his eyes.

He stepped closer to her as he had done the day before. Sansa thought that he had no respect for her personal space. He stroked her red hair and pushed it behind her ear. "I'm your uncle, Sansa, you're my precious _niece_. What makes you think that I felt something, as you so innocently put it? That I can _feel_ at all?" His words betrayed what his body was conveying, she could feel the heat traveling from him into her chest.

Sansa bravely moved even closer, looking into his green grey threatening and hungry eyes. "I think you can feel, and will intensely."

Petyr just stared at her, entranced. He turned around, away from her, and let his hands trickle across the top of his desk. He sat down, orderly fixing paperwork, as if their previous conversation had not happened at all. "Well I suppose congratulations are in order. My Claudia."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Baelish." _He's so damn confusing and enticing. Uh._

"Call me Petyr, Sansa, I won't tell you again."

"Petyr. Yes, Petyr. Um, how's Aunt Lysa, I haven't seen her in years."

"Dead."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Clearly." He paused, "don't worry sweetling, I didn't truly love her. Lysa's death was expected, her health was failing her." Petyr thought _thank Christ or I would have pushed her off the roof of this theatre spending another year married to her._   _Her insipid jealousy of everyone and everything..._

Sansa didn't reply, she just continued to take in his office. Understanding that his mind was strained with thoughts of Lysa she asked "This is really lovely, do you live here?"

He genuinely laughed. "No, no of course not. Only if I am working late, I'll sleep in the conjoined room there. Which, I must admit, is often."

He studied her face, _she's hiding something in her politeness, her small talk_. "Sansa, where are you living now?"

"Um, nowhere steadily really." She didn't elaborate. Petyr looked agitated and worried for her safety.

"What are you implying? He paused and added, "it is pretty obvious when you lie, sweetling. What is it? You can trust me, I already know the horrors of your family's death. It was all over the news years ago, I'm sure mostly everyone in London knows by now." 

Sansa's eyes looked wet, approaching tears, but they did not flow. Petyr loved her eyes yet here they troubled him, as if a violent thunder storm lingered in them ready to burst any moment. "Yes, my family is gone, but I've recently escaped elsewhere."

"Sansa, please elaborate, we're family now. We have each other." He said impatiently, wanting to gain some aspect of her trust. Sure, Petyr was manipulating her, but he craved information. _Knowledge is power._

Sansa divulged, she did have _no one_ in her family left. Just Petyr. "Come here", he patted his lap for her to sit. "Don't worry you don't have to dance on me. Not now anyways." Petyr devilish smile returned to his face, releasing a soft, joyful laugh from Sansa. _He wanted more._

"I'm 16, Petyr, probably too old for this sort of thing." _Shit_ thought Petyr, _she's so fucking young_.

He just patted his knee again, assuring her it would be okay. She reluctantly sat down, and told her story.

"I've escaped from Ramsay Bolton, do you know him?" Petyr's eyes turned dark again, and nodded. "He was so kind to me at first, I guess he was taking advantage of my fragile state after the murders of my family. He..he, manipulated me, tortured me... " Sansa finally let her tears fall, the storm no longer combating, but releasing from her eyes. "I don't want to tell you the details, but he is a brutal, terrifying creature. He is _inhuman_." _He touched her, and tortured her? Raped, probably too._ Petyr shuddered, he would never force himself on anyone. He couldn't imagine the trauma she experienced and was enraged that someone would harm her. 

Petyr was cradling her, and softly running his hands through her hair soothingly. His hands hugged her closer, embracing her and she gave in. Her body fell into his openly, and she hugged him. He was startled at first, but then responded by accepting her fully. "Shh, it's alright, I'll protect you. You're with me, now." _This girl has been through so much, at her age. It's unfair. She deserves to be loved and ache for passion._  "He can't hurt you anymore." 

_I can have him killed, easily._

* *

As Petyr sat in his office, almost domestically holding Sansa, Miranda had stepped through the doors into the Mockingbird. She had intended to complain of the casting of Sansa as Claudia, while everyone else had left. Miranda opted to change, appearing as sultry as she could without being overtly obvious in her intentions. She had never once seduced Petyr, however, even though she thought she had repeatedly over the years.

 _Now is my time_ , she thought, _I'll rid Petyr from his worthless niece, and he'll succumb to me._

Noticing how loud she was, she took off her heels. She tiptoed discreetly to Petyr's office, wanting to surprise him. Her black sheer tights slid across the floor; silent were her steps. With her heels in hand, she looked through the window in his door and her bewilderment immediately turned into anger.

Sansa's legs were curled up under her, sitting on Petyr, with her head resting on his shoulder. Both arms were entangled in one another. Miranda had never seen Petyr so outwardly affection with anyone. _This petulant girl enters his life for less than two days and he already has affected him this way?_ Miranda fumed.

She watched as Petyr lifted Sansa's head sweetly. He delicately placed both of his hands on each side of her cheek. Miranda pressed her ears to the door, but was unable to overhear their intimate conversation. Petyr massaged her temples and kissed her forehead tenderly. He looked like he was reassuring her again and again, and Sansa weakly nodded.

Miranda stared at Petyr intently as he moved his arms to grasp Sansa's hips, he raised his eyebrows and hoisted her up in the air and off the chair. Sansa closed her eyes, lifted her head and laughed emphatically, and Petyr's lips broke into a small smile. His face returned to normal as she opened them, but Miranda noticed the minor change in his demeanor in that split second.

Sansa walked eagerly away from his desk and into... _Petyr's bedroom?!_ Miranda was exasperated, her eyebrows scrunched, her mouth twisted in fury. Petyr followed her in, closing the door.

Miranda crouched down, curled into a ball, hugging her sheer-covered legs. She cried softly for a few beats, and stood up. She kicked her left foot back and then her right, slipping into her suade pumps. She stomped across the tiled floor heatedly and said "I'll ruin her. Watch your back, Sansa Stark. I'm coming for you." Miranda forcefully burst through the doors, strutting through the busy streets determined and unyielding. 

Miranda huffed and groaned loudly when Olyvar accidentally ran into her. "Get off me!" She demanded, and steered him out of her way. 

Olyvar only laughed and bowed humorously. "Your highness." 

Olyvar jogged into the theater, having forgot his script and notes. _He'd kill me if I forgot them to look over today._ Olyvar approached the doors to Petyr's office, realizing it was locked. He dug his hand into his pocket, pulling a series of brass, spare keys all hanging on the same hook. _Here it is._ Olyvar inserted the key, twisted the door open and walked through purposefully. His eyes searched the room for Petyr, absentmindedly he chose to look further, against Petyr's orders. _I just don't know where I left them...._ Pushing open Petyr's bedroom door, Olyvar called out "Hey boss, you in here?" As the door was thrust open, Olyvar was shocked to see Petyr accompanied by the young redhead sitting on the bed. He smirked mischievously and asked "Am I interrupting something Petyr, Ms. Sansa?" 

Sansa's face flushed again and instantly cleared up her situation. "Oh no, not at all. Petyr had inquired about my living situation, because of my um... family, and he offered me this room for the time being. Showed me around. That's all."  

"Hmm." Olyvar wasn't entirely finished with his teasing and Petyr waited, "Really? Because it seems like-" 

"That what? That we're fucking in here, Olyvar?" Petyr asked, "That Sansa, my _neice,_ and I are having hot, steamy sex in here right now? How funny."

"Well, not _yet_  anyways..." Olyvar quieted, his voice soft. _Not yet? What?_ thought Sansa nervously. 

"What do you want, Olyvar?" 

"I need my script, my notes. I left them behind, just not sure where."

"Ah, I had thought so. Top drawer, on the left in my desk. You left them backstage as miss Sansa's audition caused you to run after her yesterday." 

"K, thanks boss. See you both tomorrow. Sansa." He winked at her, rushed over to the desk, retrieved his papers and closed the door as he left in haste. 

Petyr sighed out of annoyance. "Sorry, sweetling, what were you saying earlier?" _Why does he keep calling me that?_

"I'm not sure. But um, Petyr." Sansa strained herself to ask him "what did Olyvar mean by 'not yet'?" 

"He's just making fun of me, he does whenever he has the chance. Which is not often. Don't fret over it. Anyways, you're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like. Okay? That's a promise."

Sansa flashed him a warm smile, "Thanks Petyr." _He has that look again, of need._ Sansa's gaze traveled to Petyr's frame, admiring the way he carried himself, not overly confident just comfortable in his body. _He's ruggedly handsome,_ Sansa thought. _Despite his sex appeal, he is way too confident in his flirtations._ Sansa mused in her head. Petyr followed her eyes wantonly, presuming her stares to reflect her hints of interest, or maybe even desire? Petyr hoped. 

"And besides..." Petyr stepped closer to his bed, limiting the space between himself and Sansa. As he brought his knees to his soft, cushioned rug, he stretched his arms out on each side of her, encircling her predatorily. "If we were having sex in here, Sansa, you wouldn't be this quiet." One of his arms, slid further off the bed and barely touched her thigh. He stared in her striking eyes, anticipating her annoyed or scared reaction. 

Instead she boldly replied, "Neither would you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment :) I'll be alternating between this fic and Towards Darkness (which is almost finished) thanks for reading <3


	3. A Challenge

Sansa awoke in Petyr's spare bedroom, without him of course. She stretched out spreading her legs and arms widely across the silky sheets, reaching as far as her limbs could. Her body was well rested, and it had been quite a long time since Sansa had felt comfort. Like she was home.

Petyr had suggested Sansa to go to the hotel that she had been staying in to retrieve her things, which hadn't been much. Just a small, knapsack filled with limited necessities, a few dresses and not much else. When she ran away from Ramsay, from his dungeon of a home, she threw items in her bag randomly and at a frenzied pace. Rushing out through the window of their room, she sprinted and never looked back. 

Sansa had borrowed one of Petyr's button up dress shirts to wear to sleep, without his knowledge. He left it draped on his desk chair, and she snatched it late that evening. Sansa was unsure what time it was, but she had a feeling Petyr worked late and came back to work in early hours. She felt someone stir outside her door, yet the noises were purposefully quiet. She smiled softly, drifting off the bed, her bare feet rubbing the carpet. As she approached the door, she opened it slowly, so he would not notice her right away. Her breath hitched.

_It must be early._ She swept the room with her blazing blue eyes and read the time. 7:31.

Her eyes shot back to Petyr and his chest. He was in navy blue cotton pajama bottoms without a shirt. Sansa silently marveled at him, his strong shoulders, his fit and lean stomach and few curled black hairs on his chest. He brought a cigarette to his lips effortlessly, blowing small waves of smoke from his mouth. Even in mundane actions, Sansa found him pretty irresistible. His movements brought Sansa's doe eyes to his thin lips, and she sighed airily. _God, Sansa he could be the same age as your father almost. And he's family, but he certainly doesn't act like it..._

Sansa mustered up enough courage to stroll by him unseen, waiting to see his look of shock and interest wearing his clothes. However, because she glanced one last time, she bumped her head on the door frame. "Shit shit." _How embarrassing,_ she groaned audibly.

Petyr laughed without looking up. "I caught you staring, Sansa. Or was it, dare I say, astonishment?" He teased and finally acknowledged her. She froze in front of his desk and Petyr was now in awe.

Sansa clasped her arms behind her, unintentionally pushing her perky breasts forward. A few buttons of his purple shirt were opened at the top, revealing Sansa's collar bone and cleavage. Around her neck, held a silver chain, the pendant hidden from his view. Keeping his tone stern, he asked "Sansa, where are your clothes?" _Gods, I don't know if can keep distance from her much longer._

"Petyr, I don't have much I only brought a few- your shirt..."

"Yes it's mine, but it looks infinitely better with you wearing it." _Just how I dreamed you'd look._

Petyr lunged up from his seat, walked in front of his desk and leaned his body against it facing her. "Come here, Sansa."

She sultrily sauntered over but it was rooted in innocence and fear from her experiences with Ramsay.

His hands touched Sansa, removing a button at a time. Sansa swallowed and was about to permit him to continue, when he had stopped. His fingers brushed the wolf pendant, tied to her necklace. "Fitting for you, sweetling, and your family." Petyr held the wolf to his lips and kissed it. "We'll just have to free her someday won't we? This wolf. Free her of worry, violence, sex. And there will be no stopping her." His huskiness did not overwhelm the sentimentalities of his words to her. Sansa couldn't bear it.

Sansa's eyes pooled in water. Their eyes looked at each other deeply fixated. Petyr's searched hers desperately for her approval. He leaned in closer, eyes moving to her plump red limps. As he breathed in sharply, Sansa tilted her head sideways, rejecting him. Petyr looked down at his feet. "Sansa I-"

Sansa cut him off as she initiated, kissing Petyr's cheek, but more so on the side of his mouth. Her lips lingered over the corner of his, and her tongue quickly tasted him. She stayed close to his face. "Petyr" she gasped out. Petyr was already almost hard at her state, her hair, her voice saying his name and her lack of clothing. _Oh gods_ he ached in his head.

"If this is going to happen Petyr...between us..." She stopped carefully piecing together her words, "You have to make me want you. More than I already do now. I need to feel it." She blushed but held a seductive gaze.

Petyr gripped Sansa's back and thrust her in between his legs forcing her to feel his cock. Her eyes widened. "Oh Sansa, please. Don't be an amateur. I can play this game too. Who will cave first, my sweet, hmm?" He rubbed against her, painstakingly slow. "The same goes for you, though. You have to make me desire you too, more than I ever have before. Deal?" He smirked at her, fully invested in her challenge.

She backed away from the desk and walked into her room. She unbuttoned his shirt all together and threw it on the ground, her naked back and maroon underwear visible in Petyr's sight. She hugged her chest, covering herself in front. Sansa moved her body to face him, shielding her breasts, and smiled. "Deal. I'll see you at rehearsal, boss. Remember 10:00."

Sansa heard Petyr's steps leaving the office, and she was thrilled. _Gods Sansa what are you doing to him?_ She grinned. She knew this fierceness was unlike her, but Petyr sparked something inside of her with his demeanor and encouragement. Sansa felt alive again.

* *

Sansa turned on the small television Petyr stored away behind his large, chestnut brown cabinet. As she turned it on, she was half-heartedly listening until she heard the name Bolton mentioned.

"-night, Ramsay Bolton was found dead in his home. The twenty-one year old's death is currently unknown, the case is currently under investigation. There are no suspects, but it has been reported that his death is being ruled as suspicious. The Bolton's were a well respected family in London, and funded several elements of the Arts including The Mockingbird Theater. I'm Yara Greyjoy, BBC News One."

Sansa slammed her fingers to the t.v. shutting it off instantly. She shrank to her knees, falling on the carpeted floor. Her body was shaking, her arms grasping the bureau tightly. _He's dead, gone. Is this real?_ She cried out in relief, choking out ragged sobs. _But who? Petyr. Who else would do this? For me, my safety?_ Sansa wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks. Noticing that it was almost 10. _Pull yourself together, Sansa. Ask him about it later. He'll tell you._

Lifting her limp body up, she threw on the last dress she took with her, heading into the theater. Seeing her reflection in the gold plated pillars in front, she paused. Her hair was disheveled, her dress was not sloppy but not neatly crip either. _Jesus, I really look like I feel._ Sansa patted the creases of her dress and ran inside. Petyr's eyes met hers and he smirked, finding her overall appearance and quirks still sexy and charming. 

Miranda was already seated nearest to Petyr and she uttered so that only Sansa could hear "Last nice just wasn't enough for you was it? He had to have you twice?" 

Sansa looked at her, perplexed. "What? What did you say?" 

"Oh it's nothing, child. It just looks as if you were caught in a _rough_ windstorm, that's all. Look at yourself." Her snarky behavior was especially terrible today and Sansa just rolled her eyes. 

Petyr commanded the room. "Ladies, Olyvar, meet Harrold Hardyng. Stand up, kid. I'm sure most of you haven't met him before, he'll be of course playing our Guido." The cast smiled and surveyed the young man in front of them. He seemed false, Sansa instinctively thought. His blonde curled hair perfectly coiffed on his head. He was elegantly dressed, overly for the occasion. Olyvar spoke first, "You, Harry, can I call Harry? So are you single or...? I know these deadbeats would never ask." The cast laughed, except for Petyr and Sansa. Harry smiled and eyed Miranda. "Yes, I am. It's um nice to meet you all." 

Sansa studied him and did not trust him. He reminded her of someone she had known before, she just wasn't sure who. His hesitance and shyness seemed forced, _surely Petyr would see that?_

Throughought their rehearsal, Petyr made them do basic read throughs. He cut out selected lines and blocked a few aspects of the production. Sansa had to keep herself from laughing or blushing when Petyr would physically move her place on stage, pretending to be frustrated with her. His hands would linger on her lower back or the back of her neck, massaging her intensely. It seemed that he was serious about their arrangement, to the joy of Sansa. She couldn't wait when to learn some of her choreography. _I'm not sure if Petyr would be able to resist then._ She giggled, forgetting all about Ramsay. 

As they reached 5:00, Petyr dismissed them and had asked for their lines and songs to be memorized within the week. Sansa was writing notes on her scripts when Harry approached her. "Hey Sansa." 

"Oh, hi Harry" Sansa raised her eyebrows. "What's up?" 

"Olvar mentioned to me of the cast party he's having soon. He forgot to tell you before he left, but I thought you'd like to know."

"Thank you. Sounds fun." Sansa tried to limit their conversation, more interested in leaving with Petyr. 

Harry smiled. "Well, I'll be seeing you. If you ever want to rehearse or anything, just hit me up, okay?" 

"Uh maybe sure, thanks. See you." 

"Bye Sansa." Harry left her walking in step with Miranda, as she held onto his arm laughing. _Good they can have each other then._

Petyr approached Sansa. "You don't like him." 

"No, not at all. I don't trust him." She shook her head, emphasizing her dislike.

"Good. You shouldn't. I don't either."

"Then why would you cast him? I'm sure there were other auditions worthy of Guido, Petyr."

"Oh, there were, but I want to keep him close. His father is constantly trying to undermine my establishment." His arms circled wide, "What I've created here. Harrold Hardyng inherits his father's theater upon his death, I want to watch his every move. And ruin him and the company with it." 

Sansa was quiet. "Like what you did with Ramsay."

"You saw. On the news...radio? How does that make you feel Sansa?" Petyr's hand stroked the side of her leg, moved under her dress and up her thigh, resting on her hip bone. 

"At first I couldn't stop crying, but then... I felt relieved." Petyr began to kiss up her neck to her ear sucking hard. "I'm glad for what you did, I know it was you." She moaned a "thank you". "How did you...?" 

"Shhh, it's alright, Sansa. It was easy, I just had to tell the right people. Using those who owed me favors." 

"You will never use me Petyr. Never." Sansa threatened him with her words and her body, as she scratched his scalp roughly, pulling and feeling his hair releasing a gutural groan from him. "Already Petyr?" She whispered refering to their deal.

Petyr stopped kissing her neck, not wanting to be the one to lose their bet so soon. _The same fucking day._ "You're making this very difficult, Sansa. Our _bet._ I plan to make you feel the same burning need. _Hours_ on end." 

Sansa looked at him, devising a plan. "Prove it." She winked at him. "Come out with me. I need clothes, this is all I have left to wear." She said gesturing to her wrinkled dress. "You're always so devishly handsome, why don't we go shopping together? I'll need all sorts of things...including my undergarments, bras, underwear.. Can you handle it, Petyr? Or, as you so adorably put it, will I _cave_ first?"

_Holy hell, I can't possibly deny her._

Before Petyr could utter an eager acceptance, Sansa stroked his cock through his gray slacks. "Is that a _yes_?"    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Miranda...the worst. But I do hope you like the bet between Petyr and Sansa, I think it'll make for some funny, sexy moments between them! I bet you all will guess the type of character Harry will be... Thanks!! :)


	4. You Could Just Give In

Petyr and Sansa had enjoyed their evening traveling and shopping about London. Sansa found many dresses, tights, jeans, pants and tops to fill her average-sized closet in Petyr's spare room. _My room_ , she thought. Petyr offered to pay for the majority of her outfits, for which Sansa had appreciated greatly after feeling guilty the majority of the time.

"Sansa, please, don't worry about the money. You deserve these things and much more. Plus, I enjoying splurging on people I like. And there are not many people that I would even consider doing this for." He chuckled. "And" he added seductively "it seems you need new lingerie, as you aforementioned."

"Well, then I guess we have one more stop then." She smirked, taking Petyr's hand and giving it a squeeze before letting go. "You must know where to go."

"You know me well, I know just the place. Come on sweetling, it's right up here."

Petyr led Sansa to a small boutique adjacent from The Mockingbird. If you weren't looking for it, Sansa was sure she would have never noticed the shop. Petyr stepped through holding the door, admitting entrance to Sansa. She gasped, looking at all of the beautiful and intricate pieces displayed before her. They did not look cheap or poorly made; Petyr brought her to an expensive, tasteful and gorgeously designed boutique. Sansa felt loved and admired. Not accustomed to such affection, she graciously thanked Petyr.

"Petyr, I don't think I could thank you enough for today. I really needed it. You treat me as a human being, worthy of love and respect. I haven't had that in a long time." Sansa shifted the tone of her conversation, not wanting to feel too emotional or vulnerable once more, especially in front of thers publicly. "But I can hope that this..." She gestured to the bralettes nearby. "will serve well enough as a thank you."

Petyr smirked stealthily, as a sales woman approached them. "Good evening, sir. May I assist you two in anything? What brings you in today?"

Before Sansa could speak, Petyr promptly responded comfortably grabbing her waist. "I am here with my lovely fiancee, and she was hoping to find a few things for our honeymoon and wedding night. Some suggestions would be appreciated."

Sansa rolled her eyes at him, but played along. _This will make it harder for him, not me. This challenge is mine to win._

"Why of course, let me grab a few things for you to try on. Why don't you pick a few as well, miss, together? Spice things up." The woman left them, determined.

"Perfect, thank you." Petyr kissed the side of Sansa's forehead and whispered in her ear. "Are you ready, sweetling?"

"Are _you_ , my loving fiance?"

The woman came back with a few items for Sansa to try on. Some Sansa outwardly disliked, others she and Petyr found incredibly sexy. The lingerie was brought into the dressing room for her to choose. The saleswoman monopolized her session, measuring and tweaking Sansa in each garment. Sansa was waiting to slip into the all-black slip, that had a plunging push up bra built into it. She began to feel incredibly overwhelmed at the woman's persistent involvement and Petyr could sense it.

"Miss, would you mind leaving Sansa and I alone for a few minutes? We'll be purchasing these two definitely, if you could set that up for us." Petyr and Sansa were the only two customers in the store, vastly outnumbered by their extensive staff consisting of five other people working that night. "Thank you" she mouthed to Petyr, closing the thin curtain to her fitting room, as the woman walked away. 

Sansa finally tried on the slip, and she looked in the mirror. Her red hair pushed away from her face and chest so that she could clearly see the designs on her slip. The bra was black and covered in gray, lacy flowers. The dress was made of silk organza, and it felt smooth against her skin. Sansa closed her eyes, twirled around and giggled. _Finall I can wear something of my choosing without anyone's negative influence. You don't have control over me, Ramsay. Never again._

As she opened her eyes, Petyr swiftly pushed the curtain and stepped in the tiny space with her.

"What are you doing?" Sansa tried to cover herself, "this is not appropriate. We're in public."

"Sansa" he laughed low, almost like a growl. "They think we're engaged to be married. We're together in a lingerie shop. Sex is on our minds, sweetling." Petyr eyes searched her body, and he burned with want.

"God, you're stunningly beautiful." _So sexy, Sansa_. Petyr pressed his body against her, as he backed her into the mirror. "Are you okay with this?" 

"Petyr" she sighed, loving their closeness. Her fingers sifted through his graying black hair. Petyr licked Sansa's neck and nipped her ear "How are you feeling, Sansa? How am _I_ making you feel?"

"Good." She breathed out. _Damn him_. His arm slid up from her waist and he cupped her breast. "Just good, Sansa? Not _orgasmic_?" He squeezed her breast causing Sansa to release a tiny moan.

"You're going to lose our bet, Petyr. Not me." She gasped again as she felt Petyr's bulge on her leg.

"I'm not so sure, when I have you right now, looking like this." He kissed her breasts popping out of her slit, and she pulled on his hair. "You could just give in to me right now, Sansa. I definitely don't want to leave you so eager and wanting."

"No you-." Her body was betraying her, responding to his touches. "You are cheating." 

"Cheating? Oh, Sansa, this is me. I play dirty." With that, Petyr pressed his bulge underneath Sansa's slit, his legs in between her right leg. "Do you want me to stop?" He growled at her.

"No." Petyr lustful state reached his eyes. "But, Petyr, not here. Not like this. Remember, either one of us have to _beg_ for it." Petyr reluctantly agreed, nodding. He did not want to make Sansa feel uncomfortable or force her. He only felt reassured in that he knew that she was as invested as he was. 

"Sansa, anything for you. Just remember, you _will_ be begging _me."_ Smiling, he looked into her eyes. His gaze altered into something more than just lust. Something honest and open. Petyr leaned into Sansa's face, his cool, minty breath filling her. She blinked a few times, leaning into him as well. With their eyes flicking from their eyes to their mouths, Petyr brushed his thumb on her bottom lip. "You are beautiful, Sansa Stark. Feirce as a wolf, untamed like a bird." Petyr whispered softly and kissed her lightly on her bottom lip. Not wanting to feel intrusive or too intimate, Petyr stopped abruptly. He felt that kissing her lips was intimate and purely affectionate. Something he hadn't done in a while. 

Sansa smiled and kissed his nose. Together they left the boutique with the few items bought for Sansa. 

* *

It was the middle of the night when Sansa woke up, she was restless. She knew she shouldn't feel discomfort or worry but she couldn't help but find something or rather someone who had upset her. After having spent a fun, carefree day with Petyr, Sansa was perplexed why her heart felt heavy and anxious. 

Sansa knew it wasn't Miranda, she wasn't even worth dwelling over. Her anger and frustration of Sansa was fueled by her jealousy. Every day at rehearsal, Miranda would flaunt Harry around, laughing at each joke or petty comment he'd made. Her delicate arm would always latch on to his, proving to everyone else, that Harry was hers.

Harry, however, seemed slightly agitated by her advances but had done remotely nothing about it. It was slight, usually concealed, but Sansa could see glimmers of it. He would try to act very nonchalant, almost exuding childlike innocence. Sansa saw threw his act. Miranda would laugh haughtily and noisily, causing Sansa to glance over a few times the past week during rehearsals. Harry was never looking at Mirana, or laughing with her. Instead, he'd look at Sansa.

Her thoughts were overwhelmed by Harry. She had to rehearse with him in a few hours singing the song Petyr had asked her to perform. Sansa hated that she had to love Guido, when all she could see was Harry's gloating smiles.

 _Harry_. Memories of Ramsay flashed before her. His twisted smile, his glee in her agony and pain. Sansa had unknowingly started crying, her face was wet with tears. _His smile, his smile in my discomfort....is just like Ramsay. No please, not again._ Sansa was shaking, she tried to sleep to calm herself but her body would not cooperate. Her breathing became irregular, she felt like she was having a panic attack. Sansa called out Petyr's name, hoping he was outside her door. Her voice was raspy and quiet. She curled on the side of her bed, feeling paralyzed. 

Petyr heard a faint cry. Thinking he was imagining it, he brushed it off. He was working later than usual, cutting lines from the script to ensure the length of his play ran in about 2 hours, without intermission.

Another hour had passed. He rubbed his temples, stress and sleep were overpowering him. Petyr aimlessly walked around his office, pacing. He glanced over to the room where Sansa slept. Something was telling him to seek her out. Petyr was unsure how Sansa had been reacting to Ramsay's death. Petyr felt that she tried to hide from him in that regard. _Her_   _trauma does appear across her face when she's alone to her thoughts. He won't hurt her anymore._

Petyr did not want to wake her, so he quietly and slowly opened the door. Expecting to find her asleep, Petyr noticed her rapid movement. Sansa was sweating, her face was flushed, her body sharply turning, shaking and twitching. Petyr's feet carried him to her bedside, and he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. _She's freezing. Sansa._ Petyr lifted his shirt off, kicked off his pants, leaving him in his boxers. He removed her covers, and he laid beside her, placing them back on once more. Sansa was wearing the some of the lingerie they bought earlier that day. She modeled for him, and it took him so much effort for him not to abandon their bet all together. _Fuck me,_ thought Petyr. She was wearing a light pink camisole, curving her breasts. The lacy, almost sheer, black underwear hugged Sansa perfectly and in other circumstances, Petyr would have passionately woken her up as he intensely pleasured her. _To hear Sansa moan my name and beg for me, oh god._ Petyr grunted _. Shit not now, christ, look at her. I'm here, Sansa._

Instead, Sansa was trembling, and it hurt Petyr to see her in such a state. _What has he done to her?_ Petyr cradled her from behind, placing his head in the crux of her neck and his leg entwined with her bare legs. His arms rubbed her for a few minutes until her shaking ceased. _That's it, Sansa. You're alright_.

He kissed her neck, and he lingered breathing in her lavender and rosy scents. He trailed hungry kissed along her back. _Sansa. Oh_. Petyr moaned as soft as he could. _Pull yourself together Petyr_... Petyr in fact had accidentally woke Sansa up, but she pretended to sleep just to tease him. Sansa was incredibly grateful that Petyr had seemed to calm her night terrors. No one had ever helped her in that way before. Others would tell her it would pass, even friends and family. So Sansa knew that based on the way she reacted next, she would drive him mad with lust. She let a few minutes past to collect herself.

Petyr stilled, he felt Sansa slightly shift her weight, pushing back further into him. Her backside pushed against him, aligning with his cock. _Shit shit, please don't wake up._ Sansa sighed and breathed out "Petyr." _Is she dreaming of me? Oh, Sansa, yes._ Petyr was relieved that he had brought her body and breathing at a steady pace...but was even more thrilled that she just moaned his name.

Sansa had to suppress her smirk. She moaned so delicate and soft once more. "Petyr, please. Yes." She tugged at her hair, pretending to release some tension in her "dream." Petyr's cock was aching, he lightly rubbed against Sansa to relieve the pressure that was building dramatically. He was in bliss. _I'll get us there Sansa._

Sansa loved having control over him unknowingly so. _I'm driving him mad as he thinks I am turned on. I love it._ "Petyr, please don't stop." She barely whispered, working herself up as well as Petyr had been grinding on her. Petyr was feeling heat between them, _gods she is turning me on_.

Sansa was trying to bring enough friction to her clit, yet rubbing her legs together roughly wasn't enough. She slowly brought her hand to her folds, feeling how wet she was. Groaning loudly, genuinely so, Sansa pleasured herself. Petyr opened his eyes and saw Sansa touching herself, and he lusted after her. _What are you doing to me, my wolf._ Petyr's hand grasped his cock, shifting his hand, maintaining an aggressive pace. Petyr imagined Sansa's lovely mouth wrapped around his head, feasting on him. _Almost there_. Petyr managed to open his eyes once more barely enough to watch Sansa's swift fingers pressing deeply within herself. _Gods_. Petyr groaned after Sansa and they both moaned each others names within succession, achieving their release. Petyr strained himself to keep his voice low throughout, and he felt smug after Sansa practically screamed his name.

Petyr wiped himself carefully, staying in the bed alongside her. When Sansa's breathing adjusted to normalcy, Petyr held her telling himself that it was only because he did not want her to experience the same terrors again. Sansa smiled, falling into his arms and welcoming his touch. _I won't leave you, or hurt you. Ever. Stay with me, Sansa._

He never left her that night, and they didn't speak of it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Petyr and Sansa... so much sexual tension. Phew damn. Not much advancing of the plot, but it needed to be done lol. ;)


	5. Unusual Way

Sansa stood on stage near to Harry, rehearsing their scenes. It semed to Sansa that he was genuinely struggling to remember his lines, moving through them without any musicality or grace unlike the character of Guido. Sansa shuffled her feet back and forth, aimlessly twirling as Harry was spoken to. Sansa familiarized herself with her lines and songs; today was mostly spent waiting for other cast members, especially Harry, to catch up.

Sansa's eyes lead her to Olyvar's schedule for the day; Ros, Miranda, Harry and Sansa were called to rehearse a combination of singing and dancing scenes.  

Petyr was becoming frustrated after stopping Harry so many times. Olyvar, sitting beside Petyr, was cuing Harry on the lines he missed or had reinterpreted himself in his delivery.

"Harrold." Petyr got up from his seat grazing the steps across the stage. His impatience was visible on almost every feature, exceot his eyes. Sansa always wondered why he would wear his sunglasses. At first she assumed it was only because he was impressed with himself, but upon her careful study, she realized he wanted to hide the expression in his face. Hiding the truth, perhaps. 

"Harrold, your scene here with Sansa is a vital one to your character and hers. You understand that?"

"Uh, yeah. Yes, yes I do."

"Then why aren't you acting like it? Are the lines simply tripping you up? Tell me."

"It's nothing."

"Tell me. There is a reason." Petyr insisted, not breaking contact with Harry.

"It's her, sir." He pointed at Sansa. "She intimidates me, a bit. I have been rushing through her scenes because she makes me nervous."

Miranda cackled off stage. "HER? Harry, honestly...."

"Miranda." Petyr spoke sternly, as if in warning. "Do you need more time to rehearse with her? Fine, then on your own time. We can't keep running through this with all we have to today. If you can't show me now...tell me how you intend to act in the next scene."

"In the next scene..."

"Yes, Harrold. During Sansa, Claudia's song, you should still be acting, _responding_. Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, I thought....I..."

"Christ, hang on. Olyvar, please cue the music. Sansa, start from the beginning of "Unusual Way. I'll be here. If I talk during it, please don't stop, I want Harry to see, okay? Harrold, watch me." Petyr took off his sunglasses and crouched in front of Sansa. "We'll be blocking this scene soon, I just want you to visualize it ahead of time."

Olyvar turned on the music for her song and Sansa began, slightly nervous with having to imagine Petyr as the subject of her song. The root of Claudia's emotions. 

 _In a very unusual way_  
_One time I needed you_  
In a very unusual way  
You were my friend...

  
"Please note, Harry that you are not thinking of Claudia here. You're thinking of..."

  
"Louisa."

  
"Thank god, yes. Louisa, your very own wife. Just think of Miranda instead, do not think of Sansa."

 _Maybe it lasted a day_  
_Maybe it lasted an hour_  
But somehow it will never end  
In a very unusual way  
I think I'm in love with you...

  
Sansa crouched down to Petyr sighing in character, as she brushed her hands through his hair, pushing it back.

  
"Good, Sansa. Your focus is on me - uh Guido - in your imagination. Harry you should still be thinking of...um." Petyr was distracted by Sansa's singing and body. Sansa sensed his trepidation and spoke up.

  
"Louisa, Harry. But these gestures I make should affect you, as if she were doing them to you."

  
_Exactly. Sansa._ Petyr's focus was lost on teaching Harry and moved to Sansa's airy voice, again transfixed by her.

  
_In a very unusual way_  
_I want to cry_  
_Something inside me goes weak_  
Something inside me surrenders  
_And you're the reason why, you're the reason why_  
You don't know what you do to me  
You don't have a clue  
You can't tell what it's like to be me looking at you  
It scares me so that I can hardly speak

  
"Harold speak your lines, quickly now, in time with the music." Petyr nudged Harry on.

  
Harry delivered his lines from his seat, looking into Miranda's eyes. "Louisa, my angel. Light of my life. I am about to enter a realm I have never dared enter before. Wish me luck. Casanova! What an idea!" As the music changed forming to Claudia's theme, Sansa continued.

  
Sansa:  
_In a very unusual way  
I owe what I am to you_

Petyr:

_What you have done for me..._

Petyr began to sing Guido's reprise alongside Sansa. Ros, Olyvar and Miranda looked stunned, unable to even utter a sound of shock. _Petyr._

Sansa:

_Though at times it appears I won't stay, I'll never go_

Sansa:                                                                     Petyr:

 _Special to me in my life                                             Special to me._  
_Since the first day that I met you  
How could I ever forget you_

Together:

_Once you had touched my soul_

_In a very unusual way  
You've made me whole_

Sansa and Petyr were now both standing together with Petyr holding her hands. He looked like he was about to kiss her, he was so immersed with the song, the lyrics and Sansa.  _I didn't know that he could sing. Or that he ever would aloud, it was mesmerizing_. _The song, I can't help but feel that...us. Petyr and I can relate?_ Sansa was in awe of him, touched by his vulnerability with her. _He must have felt what I did. He had to._

"Petyr" her whisper was soft. Her lips barely moved, not wanting anyone to know she spoke. Petyr looked at her with an expression she did not recognize. She could not read his face. _What is he thinking? Say something. Kiss me._

Petyr didn't say anything to her but instead he stepped away from her. "Harrold, you witnessed it, soon you must perform it. Thank you, Sansa." He dropped his hands to wear his sunglasses that had been folded on his shirt. "Take fifteen minutes you all, I need a smoke."

Petyr walked off the stage, alone, taking long strides out the theater. Sansa moved to the edge of the stage watching him leave. She was torn between following him or leaving him alone to his thoughts. Sansa decided on the latter, lifting her script from the ground pretending to study, unaffected by his performance and disappearance. 

Harry followed her glances, "Sansa, should we practice now?" Simultaneously annoyed at him and feeling sorry, she replied hopelessly "Sure."

Ros saw Sansa's wariness. "Hold on there Harry, you eager beaver" Olyvar laughed from afar listening in. "Sansa, I am heading to the bathroom. Could you help with my make up, please? I want to get the look right for my scene." Ros raised her eyebrows knowingly at Sansa, hoping she'd understand that she did not give a shit about her make up.

"Of course, I'm coming. Harry, I'll be back in a few."

"God, _men_ Sansa. Such idiots." Ros grinned as Sansa looked lighter with color finding its way back to her cheeks. 

As Olyvar watched Sansa and Ros leave, he got up from his seat and went back stage, jogging out of the emergency exit. He knew he'd find Petyr out there. Olyvar saw him smoking a cigarette, scudding his black dress shoes on the pavement. Olyvar leaned on their vacant ticket counter outside, one leg crossed over the other.

"Wow, Mr. Baelish, such a lovely voice. So much talent." He mocked him at first, hoping for a pity laugh or chuckle. But he did not get one. "Boss, what's going on? You never smoke, unless you're really uptight. Is it her?"

"Who, Olyvar?" He released a long drag of smoke filling the dull, cold air.

"Christ, Sansa, Petyr. It has to be."

'Humph, you think you know me that well enough to make these ridiculous assumptions?"

"Petyr, yeah I'd like to think I do. I even knew that you'd respond to me in a snarky way a few times before you'd give me a real fucking answer. So, let's skip the Petyr Baelish defense mechanism and hear it."

He muttered, "I don't know what you expect me to say."

"Jeez, I have known you and worked for you for years. Here's a start: you don't sing, Petyr, not just for anyone."

Petyr answered begrudgingly "No, I don't. But this time I didn't even think about it. As it was happening, it was already too late. I didn't want to stop by then." He added aggressively "That's all I can say, really."

Olyvar sighed, "You don't trust anyone, you never have. Not even the people who love you and care for you."

Petyr blew off his heartfelt comments slightly, just shrugging and shaking his head. He scoffed. "Love. Caring. Foolish inclinations. Love interferes." _With the climb._

"Ah. How pleasant." Olyvar sassed. Wanting to press Petyr further he added "She clearly has feelings for you to some degree. She blushes, she worriedly watched you leave earlier. The meaning of the song...and the connection between you two..." Olyvar kept hinting towards the cruz of his point. "You shouldn't let her slip by."

"Don't." Petyr sharply looked at Olyvar.

"Okay okay. Alright, sorry boss. I just think you won't admit how you feel because you're afraid." _Afraid of feeling affection towards someone. Of loving someone other than yourself._ Olyvar wanted to keep his job as a stage manager, so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Come on you asshat, everyone is waiting for you in there. Oh and by the way, you are welcome to stop by my apartment for the cast party tomorrow night." 

"Asshat, huh? Did you learn that one from Ros? Eh, it is a _cast_ party. I just don't think it would be-"

"What? Too late? Anytime after 9, old man." Olyvar winked. "Oh, and Sansa will be there. If that'll sway your decision, other than the booze and my company of course."

Petyr took one last drag of his cigarette officially calming his nerves. Letting it fall to the ground, and squishing it, he followed Olyvar through the backstage entrance. "I'll consider it." Trying to regain his composure, Petyr also added. "It's not love." _I want her. I don't love her. I hope._

"You're such an asshole." Olyvar said to a smirking Petyr.

Walking through the heavy, draped magenta curtains, Petyr saw Harry speaking rather closely to Sansa. Her face flushed and she giggled... _nervously, flirtaciously? Fuck. What did he say?_ Petyr glanced at Miranda, prepared to see her jealous and viscious eyes. He did not. He found Miranda, in the darkness, with her lips forming into a toothless, threatening smile. _Why the hell is she smiling at Sansa?_ The sunglasses were hiding his own greenish grey jealousy. 

_Watch yourself Harrold Hardying._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm hmm. Please comment, I hope you're liking it :) sorry if some of the font is inconsistent, particularly with the song, I tried to fix it unsuccessfully so. (all lyrics belong to Nine!) 
> 
> I wanted to show here the mystery surrounding Harry. You'll uncover who he is really soon... 
> 
> Thanks! <3 ~


	6. On My Terms

Petyr had his main cast on call to primarily rehearse the burlesque aspect of their production. He knew they were talented dancers, what he was really anticipating was Sansa's routine. He was thrilled to have her start immediately. With only a few weeks left before opening night, Petyr had dwelled on the possibility of them falling behind. Petyr's rise to The Mockingbird's popularity had meant that he needed to uphold the quality of his past performances, progressively building upon them. He intended to monopolize and control the Theatre District of London. _Sansa._ Sansa was the key to his future success, he felt it in his bones. She tuggged at his heart and his brain, asserting herself into his life. 

"Alright, alright. Harrold, Ros, Myranda and Sansa on stage. Oh aaannnd Olyvar come up here too. Form a circle for me. Now partner up." Petyr purposefully stood beside Sansa, choosing her and holding her wrist. "Are we good? How predictable. Ros with Olyvar. Myranda with Harrold."

"One could say the same for him." Olyvar whispered in Ros' ear.

Petyr emphasized the importance of their next exercise. "This is your partner. You will working with them for the duration of rehearsal today, okay? Respect them, their space, and make -"

"And make love to them, we get it Petyr. You ready Ros? We had it coming." Ros and Olyvar laughed together, having been close friends for half their life, they certainly knew how to freely enjoy themselves. Their humor was one and the same.

Sansa blushed. "Christ, no. Stop Olyvar. It seems your humor has multiplied signifcantly within the past few days. And the two of you together, not just trouble, a nightmare." Petyr continued. "We have dedicated plenty of time to your individual performances in both song and dialogue-only. You should all have your lines memorized by now."

Ros and Olyvar jokingly whipped their heads around to Harry and snickered together. _That's you_ , thought Olyvar, tired of practically reading his lines repeatedly for him after weeks. _Even though your hot as fuck_. Olyvar suppressed a grin, not wanting to give Petyr other reasons to be angry with him.

"So, today we'll be focusing on your trust and dancing capabilities. That's why I'm with Sansa, here. The majority of you already know what I'm about to have us do next...."

Myranda groaned "Uh no already? Isn't this still so juvenile?"

"Well, not what's to follow.... Trust fall exercise again, boss?" Olyvar watched Sansa's reaction, hoping she would be okay with being paired with Petyr after his snarky behavior recently. _She can take him though, we've all seen her audition. And damn._ Olyvar smiled to himself.

"Yes, we will be trust falling. I just want to make sure everyone here is comfortable with close contact with their cast mates before we rub up against them." Petyr replied. _Nothing unordinary here, I always fucking do this before we dance._

"Wait, what? 'Rub up against them?' What do you mean?" Harry looked confused to Myranda who hushed him, glaring.

"Alright, do a couple trust falls for each of you, at least four times. I don't have to say anymore, let's get on with it."

Ros and Olyvar and Myranda and Harry immediately started. Petyr looked at Sansa as he often did when they were in the theater: his smirk was much more pronounced, his demeanor was collected, ensuring no one would sense his desire for her. Sansa thought _well maybe he shouldn't touch me so much, sing with me, stand by me and rehearse with me if he wants the opposite effect..._ She smirked in turn, feeling she was stronger and more capable than he thought she was in comparison to himself. _Your sunglasses aren't protecting you._

Petyr spoke to her first, after seeing her mind at work. "Do you want to fall now, or after me?"

Sansa approached him on her small heels, resting on the base of them to reach his face. _Will she dare kiss me in front of others? I beg you Sansa, give in._

Sansa swiped the sunglasses from his face, placing one end of them down her shirt, fastening them. "These come off." She said, gesturing to her chest. She was wearing a low light blue, loose fitting button-down over a black dress. The faded blue brightened the color in her eyes. She almost matched him in a way, but she looked more casual and relaxed.

"I need to trust you, especially to see it in your eyes. You first, Petyr." She added his name breathily knowing full well the effect it had on him. Petyr knew he had to especially focus on maintaining his composure with her here, not wanting to further break himself down.

"Of course, sweet Sansa. Are you in position, I am sure of the trust between us." Sansa rolled her eyes, not responding to the brief insult he stung at her. He wanted her to fire back, but she held her tongue remaining civil. "Just do it." _Dickhead_.

Petyr fell awkwardly into her arms a few times, the distance from his fall to the ground between each try became greater. Sansa's looks and comments were muffled by the hysterics of Ros and Olyvar's sexual jokes and laughter, and Miranda's high-pitched laugh as she threw her head back. Time seemed to move slowly as Sansa had to fall next. _Her vision became cloudy. It's just an exercise. Why is this stressing me out? It's always him... I'll forget him eventually. Ramsay...._

"It's alright sweetling, I'll catch you. I mean, I understand that you seem to want to have me continuously laying in your arms, but I think it's only fair that I catch you."

"Look at me, Petyr. Mean it."

Petyr was caught off guard by her demand. He reluctantly looked into her eyes, demonstrating his vulnerability when he kissed her in her dressing room the other day. "I'm looking at you, Sansa. What do you see?" He asked sharply.

Sansa saw much in the lines across his face: the few wrinkles and creases when he squinted his eyes, the straggling hairs outside of his seemingly perfect, trimmed mustache, his thin lips barely opened. And his eyes, his emerald grey gems sparkling.

_He's so wickedly hot. But here, looking in his eyes, there's more than just his threats and sexuality_. "I see someone who is often afraid, like me, around certain people. And those certain people have been through a lot; they understand you." She spoke softer, lowering the tone of her voice. Petyr found it to be incredibly sultry, but he knew her words were important and rather confessional. He listened on. "But you're afraid, Petyr. To let that person in." She added after a few beats. "I am too." She shrugged, bringing down her shoulders as quickly as she brought them up. She half smiled.

Petyr did not respond to her in that way only replying "Then trust me, Sansa." _As I am choosing to trust in you_.

Sansa's heels carried her a short distance away from Petyr. "Perfect, right there, sweetling. Now fall." Sansa stared at her feet, moving her toes about. She leaned her frame into his, his rough hands resting on her shoulders, her arms trapped between his elbows. Petyr had caught Sansa so that she was a foot or two from the rubbery stage floor. His knees were bent, and he held her across his body. She looked limp, lifeless.

Sansa then twisted her body so that she was now facing him, her eyes pooling into his. She spoke almost inaudibly. Petyr had to lean in close to hear her against the noise created by the others.

"When I was with Ramsay, he would drive me to random places while I was blindfolded. I wouldn't know where we were; a hotel, his apartment, an abandoned building. I will never know. He would beat me, push me...take me. I wouldn't just close my eyes willingly for anyone Petyr, as they ask me to fall blindly, ask me to trust them." Sansa's arms gripped his strong, lean shoulders, almost as if she was clinging on begging him to not take her by force. "But I did." She firmly slid her hand down his clothed chest, making eye contact with him during. "You know what I want, but it will be on my terms."

"Sansa..." He wanted to hug her close as he had the day after she had reentered his life. Petyr wanted to cradle her, bring her body flush to his, feeling her heat once more, enveloping her. He wanted to fuck her, have her writhe and squirm all around him. _Fuck this deal. I will protect her, cherish her. Sansa, I surrender._ As Petyr imagined whisking her away off stage, Myranda stomped over.

"Petyr! Are we done yet? Harry keeps asking me when we're going to dance." Myranda looked at their position. "Did you freaking drop her, Petyr? Or am I interrupting something?" Myranda tapped her sandals indicating her impatience.

Sansa stood up walking to the one woman on stage with the annoyed temperament. "Yes, Myranda. You did interrupt something." Petyr thought Sansa's fury was about to be unleashed. She opened up to me again, and this friggin' bitch ruined... His thoughts were buried by Sansa as she spoke again. "I couldn't wait for the dancing, nor being able to rub myself against him. I guess I just really wanted Petyr inside me. Right now." Sansa raised her eyebrow indicating how little she cared about what Myranda thought of her.

Olyvar, Ros and even Harry burst into all sorts of replies, all varying in their impressed and shocked reactions.

"Holy shit, Sansa, where the hell-"

"Ah there's our girl, Ros, just waiting to be reborn from auditions."

"Damn, Myranda, she fucking owned you. Olyvar we should recruit her..."

Petyr simply stared at her, his mouth ajar simultaneously in disbelief and deeply aroused. _Oh please, Sansa, let's go backstage right now. I'll make you gasp and moan. Gods._

Sansa brought her heel to Pety's chin lifting it up to meet her chilling gaze. "Can we rehearse our dance number now? Myranda doesn't think I can wait, so we might as well start."

Petyr brought himself up, straining himself to hide his arousal, especially as Sansa threw off her button down shirt, revealing her spaghetti strapped dress. _She's braless, my Sansa, you bad girl._ Petyr smirk was developing wildly, the animalistic side of them both had emerged. 

Olyvar rushed over to Petyr, improvising. "Hey Petyr, why don't you show Sansa where the sound equipment is. She could probably use a tour, plus we need music to dance to." He added only so Petyr would hear. "I'll distract the bitchy one and the dimwit, you just take your time, but not too much."

He winked and rushed over to Myranda and Harry. "So, as our main characters, Petyr insists for me to spend some time on you two first..." Petyr stopped listening and took Sansa by the hand backstage. "Let me give you a little tour...."

As Petyr pulled Sansa in to the halls, she said "We, we don't have much time. We're being too reckless."

Petyr pushed her against a wall, kissing her, permitting any words to leave her mouth. All she could let out was a loud, moan. _Gods yes, louder, Sansa._

"The deal, our arrangement Petyr" she spoke in between his attack on her mouth. "Is it over?"

He looked in her eyes with the same hunger and desire, "do you want it to be? I know I do."

"Yes, terribly so." Petyr sucked on her neck, nipping and kissing her passionately. His tongue licked her bottom lip, and Sansa let him in. Their tongues were fighting greedily, wanting to taste every inch. Sansa unbottoned his shirt, opening it, without removing it. She wanted to feel his chest, the racing heartbeat and the warmth radiating from his body. She clutched him closer, flush against him. With her heels, their height was leveled. 

"Just kiss me anywhere, Petyr, just a few more moments while we're alone." 

"Sansa, Sansa. If you really mean _anywhere_ then we'd need more time. You know, for me to please and pleasure you properly." He growled at her, holding one hand behind her head with his thumb brushing her cheek, the other massaging her breast.  

"I can't wait." Sansa began to grind against his throbbing cock. "That's it, Mr. Baelish, yes." _Gods she'll kill me. "Fuck me."_ He groaned into her neck, as he sucked on her. 

"I plan to, tonight. My Guido. Is this what you meant by us rubbing against one another? I like it." Petyr rubbed his erection against her folds, causing Sansa to moan loudly again. They were both alternating positions as dominative and submissive, both relishing in the switching of power between them. It only heightened their passions with each surprise comment or vigorous touch. 

Petyr and Sansa continued to grind and feel each other, kissing and licking desperately. Sansa was biting his lip, when they heard footsteps running towards them. _Olyvar._

"Boss, I don't mean to interrupt, but there's some handome gents from the paper here to see you. Sansa." Olyvar smiled. 

"Shit, shit. Um, I-"

Sansa rubbed Pety's cock tightly with enough grip to release a gutural moan. She nipped his ear, and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Petyr will be there I'm sure soon, he just will need to take care of something." Sansa strolled by Petyr and walked in step with Olyvar to the stage. She turned, emphasizing the movement of her hips and winked at him. She mouthed "Tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olyvar's Cast Party coming up soon!! 
> 
> Sansa's trauma can be triggered from words, a memory, (pretty much anything really) and I want her to move through her struggles but still make them seem real. So even though she was just falling into Petyr's arms, her thoughts flooded with the horrors of Ramsay. 
> 
> Their trust is cemented and I really feel like that needed to happen before anything else. :) Feel free to comment! Thanks love bugs


	7. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, shit hits the fan in this chapter. Be wary. :0

Petyr had been craving Sansa for hours since their encounter backstage. He had been interviewing with the local newspaper, the same useless reporters asking their dull, predictable questions. As Petyr met with them, Olyvar started partially teaching Sansa, Ros, Myranda and Harry their respective dance routines. Olyvar began with Myranda and Harry and spent the majority of time with them, as he rightfully so thought they would need the most practice. Ros had effortlessly moved across the stage having Sansa repeat her mindless choreography. Ros knew Petyr's favorite, signature moves and had Sansa learn them. She's lovely. _And when she dances... I didn't think it would be possible for her to turn me on even more._ Petyr sighed. _Tonight_.

_Oh christ. They're dancing together._ Petyr's eyes shifted away from the reporters periodically, admiring Sansa's effortless talent and grace. Despite the provocative burlesque movements, she managed to be poised and simultaneously sexy. _Exquisite Sansa, keep showing her Ros._

Ros danced, circling around Sansa high kicking and seductively rolling her hips. "Pretend I'm someone you're attracted to, Sansa. Someone like Petyr, maybe?" She smiled teasingly, but there was no hint of menace or spite in her eyes, unlike Myranda. Sansa swallowed. "It's obvious at this point, isn't it? Damn him."

"It's just us, love. Olyvar told me, but I could tell. I see the way you look at him. It's very sweet. Just, don't get too caught up. Petyr is not one suited for love. Especially loving someone other than himself."

_Love is not a choice. Love? Oh gosh, what am I thinking?_ Sansa replied to Ros defending Petyr. "I trust him, more than I had intended to. And I think he feels the same, I sense it from him. I can see the difference between him and...him and um..."

"Hey hey, shh it's alright. You don't need to tell me. Men suck. But Petyr, he's something special, just like you, Sansa. You seem to be a fit, in an unusual way." She winked, slyly referencing the song they sang together.

Olyvar yelled over to them, impersonating Petyr's voice "Ros, enough, we cannot delay. Quit shooting the shit!"

_Is that what I sound like to him? What an asshole._ Petyr grimaced over at Olyvar, but despite himself, he chuckled quietly.

"Yes, Mr. Baelish." Ros bowed and laughed and took Sansa by her hands, spinning her around. "Let's keep going, dance as I had just done. I'll play the track, hang on. Be right back." Sansa began dancing on stage alone, mirroring Ros' rhythm.

_I wish I was with you there Sansa._ Petyr was absentmindedly answering his insipid questions, casually stopping mid-conversation as Ros and Sansa were dancing again.

"Apologies, I just need to correct one of my actresses here. We're getting close to our performance dates as you know, excuse me a moment."

Petyr walked from behind to Sansa. She hadn't realized he came to her until his hand slipped within hers. He began holding her arms as she reached them over head, widening her reach, until she left them both fall draping to her sides.

He spun her so that she was facing him, his arm tightened on her back straightening it. "There, now you're in hold, if we were ever to tango, waltz..." Petyr dipped her and Sansa's slowly moved her head around, her soft red tresses grazing the floor and her long neck open fully. Petyr stared at her wanting to pull her to him, enveloping her with a vicious assault on her neck and plump lips.

As her head lifted to meet his gaze, Petyr spoke again, talking out of the side of his mouth. "Sansa Stark, when we fuck tonight over and over again, I want you to scream and cry as loud as you can. There will be no pain, my sweet, only intense pleasure."

Sansa imitated his famous smirk. "We'll see about that." They remained in hold, a fraction of a second longer than they should have. Attracting attention, Petyr released her and walked to the reporters nonchalantly. "Good work, Sansa. Ros." 

  
* *

It was near 9 o'clock, and Sansa was dressed and ready for Olyvar's cast party. She was hoping it wouldn't be too crowded or loud, but knowing Olyvar's wild and carefree personality, Sansa assumed it would be. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, the ends of her flowing waves barely concealing her open back. Thin strips crisscrossed along her shoulder blades, the cut of her cobalt dress resting above the dimples of her lower back. Her floor length dress cinched at her waist, hugging her curves freely rather than conforming to her body.

Sansa looked in Petyr's mirror. She was alone in his office at The Mockingbird. It was an eventful day, and Sansa had found out that Harry's father had passed away a few hours prior. The police came by offering condolences to Petyr. Sansa had initially feared their appearance had to do with Ramsay, she strained her body from shaking. Her fingers subconsciously fidgeted and legs were unable to keep still. She felt tense, moving each muscle was strenuous.

Once Petyr had relayed the news, he cooed and held her. He breathed in her rosy scent, placing a kiss on her forehead. "Sansa, it's about Harry's father, no need to worry. You're not going anywhere."

"I was worried you'd be."

"Well... I am but not against my will. I have to go with the police for some time. Even though he left the theater for Harold, they want me to see if there is anything unusual over there. Having known the man for years, I'm sure it was just his old age, sweetling."

"Petyr, don't underestimate this one, I'm certain something is wrong."

"And if there is, I'll find it. But please, have fun tonight. I'll pick you up at Olyvar's soon after. And then..." He paused, switching to a deeper tone in his voice, "we'll finish what we started."

She had clutched him, her nose nuzzled in his chest. "I don't know much longer I can wait."

Sansa remembered their conversation and she twirled in front or the mirror. She had waited long enough. Stepping outside the theater, she texted him.

_See you soon Petyr xo._

Her phone buzzed almost immediately in her hands:

_Not too much longer my sweet._

Sansa smiled, dropping the phone into her small purse. Olyvar often jogged to The Mockingbird as it was only two blocks from his apartment. Sansa was not entirely sure how she envisioned his apartment to look. _But it must be just as wild and vibrant as he is._

Finally arriving at the tall apartment complex, Sansa made her way up to the tallest floor. _11 floors, oh gosh. Olyvar how do you afford this place?_

Stepping through the elevator, she located his apartment number by following the yelling and overall ruckus. She laughed, opening the door. She scoured the room, searching for any familiar faces. There were tens and hundreds inside, no one she knew. She felt lost, and a bit hopeless. All she could see was Myranda, smiling with a fierce glint in her eye.

"Sansa! You found us, I was beginning to think you had lost your way. Follow me, Olyvar and Ros are in here."

Sansa followed hesitantly, confused by her friendliness. _She's acting strange like she knows something. Something she doesn't want me to know._

To Sansa's surpirse, Myranda did lead her to her friends. It was all very noisy, witth several people filling his large studio apartment. Olyvar yelled over slurring his words. "Oi, Sansa's here!! Ros, look at our lovely lady."

Ros and Olyvar sloppily hugged her and lingered in their hold. "You're both drunk." _Already_.

Ros replied, "yes this bitch over here", pointing to Myranda, "is our savior. She brought over plenty alcohol for us to choose."

Olyvar chimed in talking over Ros, "beer, wine, whiskey....whatever you want Sansa, we fucking have it. Oh, hey the fuck! Where the hell is Petyr? He didn't come with you? That weasel."

"He'll be here soon." Sansa cut him off, hoping that would stop him from saying any more than he needed. The room starting spinning, despite Sansa not having anything to drink. She felt claustrophobic, feeling suffocated by the noise and heat. She rubbed her forehead, and went to his kitchen grabbing water.

Myranda had followed. "Are you alright? Drink, Sansa. It is pretty stuffy in here. This probably isn't your scene, is it?"

"No not really, I was just hoping Olyvar and Ros would still be semi-sober by the time I got here. I didn't expect them to already be so..."

"Wasted, yeah. All the time, really. Olyvar and Ros are basically alcoholics."

"I didn't get that vibe from them, Myranda. You brought the alcohol."  _She's trying to play me against them, isn't she? Or is she just trying to be helpful? I can hardly trust anyone anymore. Petyr will be here soon._

Sansa became quiet, sipping her tap water from one of Olyvar's glasses. Myranda fed off of her vulnerable state. "Sansa, your cheeks are flushed. Why don't you step outside on the balcony, feel the cool breeze. It'll help."

Sansa couldn't disagree, so Myranda showed her the stairs leading to the top of the eleven-story complex.

"Um thanks, Myranda. I'll be back soon."

Sansa jogged up the winding staircase. As soon as Sansa thrust open the heavy door, she was entranced. The view was spectacular, all of the lights illuminated the tall buildings and signs. She admired the city before her, sighing into the fresh air surging its way through her body. Wanting to feel a rush, Sansa let down her hair, as her cobalt dress blew in the wind. Looking down, Sansa noticed she was facing the back of his building. The drop was terrifyingly far from her position. Focusing forward, she shivered from her discovery not the cold air.

Just then, she heard footsteps approach her from behind. Sansa smiled, _Petyr_. "I was hoping you'd be here. I've been waiting." She heard the balcony door shut, turning around. Sansa was in shock, expecting to see Petyr. However, she did not.

_Harry_.

"Hi Sansa. Not who you were expecting I see."

"Um, no. I wasn't. Why aren't you at home? Your father, he..."

"He died. I should know."

"Shouldn't you be grieving? Getting away from it all." Sansa held her arms across her body, shielding herself from him. "Sorry for your loss." 

"You only grieve if you're sad about something. If you feel regret, depressed or lost." He took his time, enounciating his words slowly. "But, I don't feel any of those things."

Sansa looked at him, understanding the curelty behind his eyes. _He was so quiet, so innocently wandering about during rehearsals. Pretending_. "You killed him."

"Very clever, Sansa. You know", he laughed menacingly, "you were so hard to fool. I couldn't get close to you no matter how hard I tried. With the acting, forgetting my lines, even the extra rehearsal time. But you always saw through me. It was so...frustrating."

Sansa's eyes widened.

"But you're the key to all of this, Sansa. Just like I knew you would be. The fault, the one weakness in Petyr's plans. You fell right into it. I didn't even have to _do_ anything."

"What are you talking about? Make your threats. You don't frighten me, Harry."

"I should, though. I did just kill my father, only a few hours ago. He was near death, but you, so young, and untampered with."

"You don't know me, or what I've been through. Piss off."

Harry genuinely laughed, stepping closer to her until she could feel his breath on hers. He too smelled of alcohol, like he soaked in it. "You shouldn't have came here tonight, Sansa."

  
* *

Petyr had finally finished meeting with everyone that had requested his presence. He urgently asked to take his leave, agreeing with ruling Harry's father's death as unusual. Suspicious even. Petyr never trusted Harry and neither did Sansa. It seemed too convenient for him. _Where is he anyways?_ Thought Petyr. _Clearly not at his home where I just was._ Petyr jolted _. Is he at the party?_

Petyr was almost there by a cab. Hopping out, he began to run for his fear and anger of his own uncertainty. _Sansa you're alright. Please._ He shot her a quick text.

_Sansa, I'm here. I'll meet you upstairs, my love._

He called Olyvar, as he always received his calls. He didn't answer. _Fuck_ he muttered.

Petyr ran inside the complex, choosing to avoid running up the several stair cases. _It will only tire me out, and besides there should be nothing wrong. Right?_ But Petyr couldn't help but feel that Sansa's caution was correct. _I'm coming for you, my love._

Petyr rushed through the elevator, forcing his way through Olyvar's apartment calling Sansa's name without answer.

Petyr saw Ros passed out on the ground, as he scanned the room for Olyvar. Instead, he was left with Myranda. He grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her from running into him. "Myranda, stop this. Let me go, I'm looking for Sansa. Go find Harry, for Christ sake. He seems to like you."

"I thought so, too. But Petyr that's just it." Myranda looked worried. "He's with her." She added softly. "It's my fault."

"Explain yourself! Right now Myranda." Petyr shook her aggressively wanting the truth from her. "Hurry Myranda!"

"I just wanted Sansa off the production... Harry told me she was not who she said she was. He said that she was a threat to everyone. I thought she was playing you... so that's why I acting that way. I sent her upstairs to the balcony, assuming he would reveal her secrets or blackmail her. But Harry, he, he locked the door I can't get up. I'm an idiot. He played me."

Petyr let her go furiously, anger fuming through his whole body. "I'll deal with you later." He shoved people out of his way, sprinting to the door. All he heard was Myranda's plea "Help her!!" He threw his body against it, breaking the door down instantly. 

"Ah, Petyr, I was hoping you'd show up later. We haven't been waiting here awhile. I could have fucked her."

"Harold, you fucking bastard. Let her go."

Petyr noticed Sansa, her arms tied behind her back, barefoot standing on the wooden floor. Harry held a sharp knife to her throat. He saw her bruised lip and arms. Petyr stilled realizing their position.

"That's it, stay right there Baelish. Great." Harry snickered. "Such a fool."

"Let her go." Petyr stressed again. "Leave her out of this!"

"She wouldn't have been apart of this Petyr if you hadn't fell for her."

Petyr didn't move.

"Struck a nerve, huh Baelish? Your desire for Sansa developed into much more, plain for all to see. _You_ did that. You thought you'd have no pressure point. No weakness. Well... I found it." Harry drew the knife closer to Sansa's neck so that it lightly pressed against her, reveling in his power.

Petyr lifted his hands up, so his palms were lifted towards the threatening darkness. He shook his head, his mind churning. Petyr speculated all of his options, each ending with Sansa alive regardless of his safety. 

"I can likely guess what you want, since you killed your father." Petyr spoke.

"Sansa already figured that out, she's smarter than she looks. You chose wisely, Petyr."

"I didn't chose her, Harrold. I fell in love with her."

"Gods, we know. I will let her go, let her live her pathetic, miserable young life, if you hand over control to me. The Mockingbird is one the most influential and profitable theaters in the world. You know I have talent. You know I am capable, I have proved it. Give The Mockigbird to me. Or I'll exploit you and cut her throat."

Petyr looked at Sansa pleadingly. _Sansa, give it your best shot. Fight with all your inner and outer strength._

He nodded, hopefully she understood he was responding to her not Harry.

Sansa did. She rapidly lifted her leg, kicking him in the crotch. Harry groaned, leaning forward, dropping the knife. He dragged Sansa with her. Sansa saw Petyr run to him, shoving him further to the ground, pinning him.

Sansa awkwardly crawled to the knife, trying to cut herself free. She saw Petyr struggling with Harry, both throwing punches at the other. Sansa became frantic with the knife, _please please let me help him._ She screamed loudly, begging for any help. 

Petyr thrust another fist at Harry's face, leaving his nose covered in blood. Petyr lifted his weight off of Harry, his jacket drenched in his and Harry's blood. Petyr limped over to Sansa, helping her cut the rope through. He took off his jacket, holding her as she cried. "I'm so sorry Sansa. Forgive me. I didn't know his nature, when I did it was almost too late. I couldn't lose you. I love you." Tears filled his eyes, but without letting them fall. "You were right to not underestimate him." 

Sansa simply seeped into his arms, holding him with the intention of never letting him go. "I knew you'd come." Again, Harry got up and lunged at them both.  

Sansa fell on her stomach, the knife still in her hands. She began to bleed as the blade cut into her skin on her palm. "Get off of him!! Take me instead, you monster!" Sansa led him to the edge of the balcony, baiting him. Petyr yelled Sansa's name, as he fought himself to get up. 

Harry tried to attack Sansa but she was quick and light on her feet. As she ran away from Harry, bringing him closer to the edge, she traveled like a frightened swan. Even though she was truly afraid, running on adrenaline, her movements unequivocally mirrored a dancer's. Harry swiped at her arm, grabbing hold of her hand with the knife. She threw it away as far as she was able. As Harry turned to retrieve it, Petyr approached throwing him against the ledge. 

"Sansa, get out of here now!" Petyr fought with the strength he had left, trying to apprehend Harry.

"Petyr, I will not leave you." Sansa ran to the knife speedily and, without thinking, stabbed Harry in the leg. He yelped in pain, holding his wound. In that split second where Harry had tried to tend to his wound, he backed up further into the ledge. He limped back, arms flailing and fell off the steep apartment edge. 

Sansa did not scream, she only watched him fall crashing into the pavement. Her face was stoic. She did not utter a sound. Petyr was exhausted and he did not bother to look at Harry fall. He just sank into the ground, sitting. Resting his head back on the brick wall, he rubbed Sansa's leg and ankle, making sure she was real. Ensuring that the image beside him was in fact Sansa. 

Sansa slid down beside him, leaning into him. Her breathing was at a staggeringly irregular pace. Countless thoughts echoing in her mind. Petyr looked at her asking "What do you want to do?" 

Sansa stood up holding out her hand. "Please, just hold me. We'll tell the truth, Petyr. No lies. No deceit. He attacked us and he fell. Come here." 

"Sansa."

"Petyr." She looked drained, Petyr did not want to deny her anything.

Petyr was led to his feet, standing. Sansa lifted her bare feet to stand on his dress shoes. She wrapped one of her arms behind his neck, the other clutching his back. "Hold me, Petyr." 

Petyr removed her hand from his back, entwining it with his so that his other arm held her waist. " _Now_  we're in hold, our dancing position." They gently swayed, as Sansa moved with his slow steps. Her head nuzzled his neck. _I think I love you, too, Petyr._ She sighed into him, calmly restored to peace. 

For now. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh!! I've been hiding Harry's true intentions, keeping them in mind since the beginning. I'm super interested to learn more about him in Winds of Winter, especially if he is a reflection/placeholder for Ramsay. That's what I am thinking and it makes me sad for our girl Sansa. :/ but who knows?
> 
> Anyways, yikes! Intense, but I am happy with it. This was a bit of a whirlwind, and longer than I usually write. Feel free to comment and thank you bunches as always :) ~love~


	8. Fever

Sansa had danced with Petyr for a few blissful, weary minutes, swaying slowly in his secure arms. They were spent, both had completely unexpected Harry's violent tendencies, unquestionably heightened by the amount of alcohol he consumed. Petyr kissed Sansa's temples, before phoning the police. Her palms trickled down his chest, rubbing back and forth, up and down soothingly. 

They had bickered briefly about their story, Sansa wanting to openly tell the truth and Petyr opting to, as he called, "stretch" the truth by overly embellishing their story. Sansa had assured him that enough evidence was against him. She had asserted "Petyr, you do not have to overanalyze every detail. Harry was drunk, he willingly admitted that he _murdered_  his father, he threatened to kill me and take over The Mockingbird, and it looks like we were attacked and beaten severly. Which _we were._  We have injuries, we're in pain. They have to believe us, it's what happened." 

Petyr had agreed with Sansa after her insistance. It was not that Petyr didn't trust her, he just wanted to ensure that Sansa would not somehow be implicated. Even though the evidence was overwhelming, Petyr only wanted to secure her well being and happiness. 

Sansa had described her attacks to the police once they arrived. Noticing their overall struggle based on their rugged and malled appearance and the dried blood speckled across the rooftop balcony, the police ruled Harry's death as an accident. Sansa and Petyr were forced to defend themselves as necessary. Petyr overheard an officer, a small younger man named Oly cursing under his breath that it was deserved.

"Just one more thing before I let you both go. Sansa, before Petyr had came to this apartment, you were up here alone before Harry got here. Is that correct?"

"Yes, I was by myself. I walked up here to be outside because I was feeling overheated and nauseous. I just didn't feel right." 

"I see. We will be performing further questioning amongst everyone at the party to see if anyone noticed anything peculiar, especially if they admit knowing about Harry's intentions and personality. Or anything at all pertaining to Harry. We need to ensure that he was working alone." The officer looked at Sansa asking her "Is there anyone you know of that knew Harry planned to find you tonight? Anyone at all you can think of?"   

Petyr looked at Sansa knowingly. _Myranda._

 _"_ In fact there is officer-" 

"Mr. Baelish, please I would like to hear from her, if I may." 

Sansa cleared her throat. Sansa did not necessarily want to implicate Myranda, yet knowing her outight hatred of her, Myranda had to be involved  _somehow._ _But to what extent was her inclusion with Harry's threats? How much would she know?_ "Um, yes, a young woman named Myranda Rhoyce. She suggested that I feel the cold air against my skin that night, offering so that I could go outside to this rooftop balcony. This...probably would not have escalated as such if I wasn't alone or deceived as such." 

The burly, red bearded man in front of her furiously wrote down Sansa's new information. "We'll look into that, thanks for your patience, the both of you. Try not to do anything too strenuous the next day or so. Your bodies dearly need rest."

Sansa smiled weakly, her fatigue setting in as her eyelids became heavy. "Thank you Officer Tormund. Please be in touch."  

He smiled, patted her shoulder almost fatherly and added "Of course, we will contact you with any news. Like I said, we have plenty of people to interview, starting with Ms. Rhoyce." Officer Tormund walked past Sansa and humorously addressed Petyr. "Mr. Baelish, I'd just like to say that I am a huge lover of musicals and if you are ever looking for new talent, I'm your guy. Bearded guy, that is. This is never coming off though." he added, gesturing wildy to his enormous ginger beard.

Sansa's face twisted into a smile. Petyr replied professionally "Great, good to know Giantsbane. Stop by our auditions someday." Tormund grinned and nodded, walking away.

Sansa muttered to Petyr. "You forgot to mention your first rule. He needs to _sign up_ if he wants to be considered." Petyr loved her wit and undeniable sass. After everything she had been suffered at the hands of unworthy, despicable men, Sansa still retained a sense of humor and a love of life. Petyr was staring at her, admiring her every feature. "What makes you think I'd consider him?" He smirked. 

Sansa scrunched her nose, wanting to laugh but not wanting to give him the satisfaction. "If you've numbered your rules, and if Olyvar and Ros have been programmed to memorize them, you must have a lot." She stopped, blinking her eyes slowly from a combination of her tiredness and flirtation. Her eyelashes were naturally long and full. "Was I one of your rules, Petyr? Maybe one that you had originally thought you'd abide by, ignoring me..but you just couldn't _help_ yourself." Sansa moved in closer at each word she spoke, her eyes never leaving Petyr's mouth. 

Petyr leaned in tilting his head to kiss her cheek chastely. _Not here. God as much as I want her._

"You'll never stop surprising me, Sansa Stark. Come on, let's get out of here. You look so sleepy, my love." Petyr swept her weightlessly off her feet, carrying her in his arms to the apartment lobby. He kissed her forehead sweetly whispering "soon." 

The officers, after the entire situation was described to them, had Petyr and Sansa both brought to the hospital overnight to verify their health and physical state. Sansa had sustained several minor injuries and bruises; only one bandage temporarily strapped around her hand. Petyr had lost a fair amount of blood and had several shallow gashes along his arms. Mostly Petyr and Sansa's bodies ached from the fighting they endured. Sleep overcame them, as they slept in separate beds in their hospital room. 

Petyr awoke later than he was accustomed to the following morning. _Shit almost 11 AM. Fuck me._ He turned his head and saw Sansa in deep sleep still and he sighed in relief at her safety. _I will not let anyone ever touch you again, Sansa. I will protect you._

He checked his phone groaning at all of the missed phone calls and messages received from Olyvar, Ros and even Myranda. 

_8:03 AM: Boss! Answer me! Please tell me you are alright. Call me._

_9:24 AM: The police are here still at my apartment, questioning a few of us. I didn't know, I don't even know if anyone did. However, I have my theories...I'm so sorry Petyr. You two are kickass. Give my love to Sansa. (But not in that way) please at least half smile at that weak joke. We'll talk soon._

_10:38 AM Oh and by the way boss, I informed the staff and other cast members vaguely of the events that took place. More importantly, I canceled rehearsals for the next three days (+ the weekend so really five!). You need to rest. You need to lay... With Sansa. Ha! How about that one? Any irritated smiles yet?_

_7:46 AM: Petyr, it's Ros. Pick up your damn phone!_

_9:58 AM: It's me again. I wasn't there for you and Sansa._ _I will forever regret what happened and that I couldn't help her. The police told us that you are both doing alright but injured. I can't even imagine. Take some time for yourself, Petyr. Sansa needs to feel loved as much as you do too._

And finally Petyr opened Myranda's lengthy texts. 

_3:49 AM: I tried to leave a voicemail, but your box is full. Typical, really, considering the situation. Please believe me when I tell you that I didn't know about Harry, ashamedly so. He manipulated me and used me. All the while exerting his false innocence and insecurity. I know that you and Sansa are okay; the police did not have to tell me. You're tough, you're both survivors adapting to your surroundings, especially Sansa. Don't let her go, Petyr._

_8:59 AM: I bunked over at Olyvar's apartment tonight, police have arrived. We'll see what happens._

_9:03 AM: I know you, Petyr, more than you care to admit. I'll be watching you. With her. Don't test me. I'm not to blame._

Petyr reminded himself to reply to both Ros and Olyvar later. Realizing this morning, that Ros and Olyvar were not at fault, Petyr seemed less dispointed in them. Particluarly knowing that they were inebriated and unaware of Harry's inclanations. But _Myranda._ Petyr was fuming, his anger fueling him. He noticed that Myranda had not updated him on their evaluations. _I hope they charge her with something...an accessory? She was aware that Harry wanted to reproach Sansa. Fuck her. She's out. She can't threaten me._

Petyr had already lost his main character in the show, and now he would have to rid himself of Myranda as well. _My two freaking cast members._ Sansa was still sleeping, but Petyr had decided to quietly call Olyvar and discuss their options.

After Petyr had updated on Olyvar about Sansa and Petyr's near death experience, their conversation drifted towards their production of Nine.

"So, boss, what's to become of the show? We're losing one...two people?"

"Yeah, yeah I know. And it's too late to bring on another actor with no knowledge of the show or what we've been doing. I just think we don't have any viable options here, Olyvar. _" I should have had understudies._

Olyvar coughed into the phone, uncertainly. "Uh, I have an idea, but I don't think you'll, like it. I think it's hilarious, and it'll definitely work." 

*      *

It was thundering and rained poured from the sky, dilluding Sansa's vision from the cafe window. Droplets turned to splatter, clouds becoming hazy as the rain washed over the windows. The wind had carried the rain so that it was at an angle, enforcing its presence against the crackling booms of thunder. She had chatted with Ros for some time before she left, and Sansa had sipped her coffee, mulling over her future. _It can only get better from here._

Sansa grabbed her small bag and threw on her hoodless jacket, preparing to run to The Mockingbird. The cafe was not far away, and Sansa had enjoyed her solitary walk despite the dreary weather. She found the rain peaceful, finding solace in her own company. Her dark wash jeans clung to her legs, almost fully soaked through. She partially covered her head with her thin jacket, her hair was not nearly as wet. The rain mixed with the humidity reduced Sansa's hair to curlier waves across her face. 

Unlocking Petyr's office door, Sansa had spotted him rumaging through some files in his desk. _Always on. "_ I wasn't excpecting  you here, but to be honest, I'm glad you are." Sansa smiled at Petyr, realizing they hadn't been together, alone, for a long time.  

Sansa and Petyr had spent their "mini vacation" mostly sleeping and recovering from their encounter with Harry. They seemed to have missed each other until now, the past few days had Petyr occupied with meetings and Sansa spending time with Ros and Olyvar, if they both were not resting.

Petyr smirked at her, "Caught in the rain, sweetling? Or are you just excited to see me?" 

"Both, clearly." She peeled off her jacket, hanging it up on his wooden hook on the back of his office door. Her body was chilled from her dampened clothing, so Sansa snuck one of Petyr's shirts off the rack to wear. 

Petyr looked at her, undressing her with his eyes. "This'll make you laugh, Sansa. I have some news." 

Petyr spoke of his conversation with Olyvar earlier, and he passed on their preemptive plan to her. 

"You're not serious are you? This couldn't be any more perfect." _I love it._

"I'm afraid I am, Sansa. I'm your Guido and and Olyvar... will be my Louisa. It was his idea, but I do agree that it is our only viable option at this point in our production. Dress rehearsals are soon approaching. I did not think we would need understudies, but that's what I get for relying on those I barely know."

"Does Myranda know? I haven't been told anything that had happened with her. No one called, including Officer Giantsbane. I feel like something would have been found by now." 

"No not yet. Olyvar will be removing her from the show soon, we just don't want to attract attention or outright accuse her unless evidence is uncovered. But she will be gone, that much is certain. From then on, you'll have me and Olyvar...and our voices and dancing. Myranda will be just a figment, a shattering ghost of this production and her deception." _Even if I have to kill her._

Sansa's mind was elsewhere.  _So we'll be singing together again, several times_.  "I don't know who is more excited, you or Olyvar..." she was taunting him. "Do you think he'll replace me, too? And Ros? So the two of you can be alone..."

"There's only one person who I want to be alone with right now."

Petyr, realizing that no one could interefere here, looked at Sansa's body noticing that her bruises and marks were healing. Sansa was wearing a black cropped paisley top and her soaked jeans. Over her top, she slung on one of his older dress shirts, something Petyr had been used to since she lived in his guest room. It was if Sansa knew she would drive him mad seeing her in his clothes. _It does. Driving me crazy..._

His arms were leaning on his desk, with his legs crossed. He licked his lips and stared at Sansa, emphasizing "Only _one_ , Sansa."

Sansa shrugged off his shirt from her bony shoulders, pulling his arms from the desk. She was leading him into the bedroom, trickling her fingers, dancing on his hand.

"And who might that be, Petyr?"

She stopped in front of his door expectantly. Sansa shook her head ever so slightly, letting her wavy red hair drape around her shoulders and chest, teasing him.

"You." Petyr pushed his body against Sansa slamming her into her bedroom door. His mouth crashed into hers as his hands explored her body. He began to alternate between biting her bottom lip and licking all over her mouth, like a starved man.

Sansa had moaned from the back of her throat, sighing into Petyr's chest. "Yes Sansa, louder."

Petyr pushed through the door, while Sansa began undressing him. She was speedily unbuttoning his shirt, ripping it off of him and immediately began to pull his undershirt over his head.

As Sansa moved her petite hand fervently to unbuckle his belt, Petyr simultaneously kissed her neck feverishly while unzipping her shirt. Sansa was moving faster than he was as his pants were already thrown off leaving him in his boxers. Petyr had wanted to savor Sansa's every touch and curve. She bit Petyr's ear, whispering "take it off Petyr."

Petyr felt Sansa'a damp jeans clinging to her body, making them harder to remove. He laughed deeply "Oh Sansa, I will gladly rip these off of you."

Petyr peeled off Sansa's jeans in between her giggles and Petyr's unwavering gaze. His eyes hadn't left her as Sansa finally wiggled out of them. Sansa lifted her shirt over her head slowly, awaiting Petyr's response to her.

Petyr's eyes grew darker, ardent with lustful desire and longing. He stared at her body, his eyes scoping through her every detail, cementing the image of her in his brain. "Sansa, you're devastatingly beautiful, inside and out, my love." He added kissing her inner thighs, "I was hoping you'd be wet for me here, not just from the rain." It was almost as if Petyr was hissing to her, each word having an indefinite power over her. As he pressed his lips against her legs getting closer to her folds, Petyr growled at her and hummed, sending vibrations through Sansa, adding to her arousal. 

Sansa gasped as Petyr began to use his teeth to tear off her violet lacy thong. He mumbled "these look new, I don't remember us buying them. Full of surprises. You minx." As her underwear was removed entirely, Petyr crawled up to her face hastily kissing her. His arm traveled along her back, hiking her up and laying her down on the bed underneath him. His rough hands unclasped her bra, as Sansa's hands glided down his lean back, suddenly uncertain and afraid. 

Petyr had taken several long breaths, failing to control the need and edge in his voice. "Do you want this, Sansa? I'll do whatever you want. Remember it's me, us, no one can hurt you. On your terms, my love." 

She saw the genuine expression in his eyes, that wavered between his want and his need to insure her comfort. Sansa's hands dragged up his body to cup both sides of his face as she stretched her fingers to play with the hair near his ears. Sansa then removed her bra, baring herself in front of him for the first time. She locked eyes with him and nodded, pulling his face to hers. "Yes, I'm sure. I trust you." Her hand moved to stroke his member, tempting him. "And, I want you." 

Petyr could not be contained, the thrill and ferverish excitement pouring from his body was reletentless. His urgency to pleasure Sansa was unimaginable, but he managed to let her lead. Petyr could feel the heat between her legs, noticing her overall flushed face and her clenching her thighs together. Petyr opened them, spreading them wide as he inserted two fingers inside her pressing at a tentatively slow pace. He hungrily watched the small gap between her lips grow as she squealed and moaned at the pressure. As he inserted more fingers inside her, pumping faster, Sansa's head dropped behind her barely speaking. "I want _you_ inside of me."  

Sansa clumsily tried to seek out his now erect cock, failing to do so as she was utterly distracted. Petyr laughed at her mischievously, "Sansa, I have desperately wanted you to say that." When he realized she was wide enough, Petyr gently pulled out his member, stroking it a few times, before he prepared to enter her.

"Sansa.."

She demanded "I need you in me, nothing would please me more. Impress me, fuck me hard." She added in a sultry whisper "I've been waiting." 

Petyr choked out "Oh yes I will fuck you, Sansa." Petyr hurriedly threw on a condom, thrusted into her fully, both moaning at the contact and new sensation. Despite the intial pain, Sansa felt intense pleasure and her walls starting to relax. "So big, Petyr. Yes, more." Petyr groaned as she said his name, begging for him. He pulled out, and started to pound into her. His thrusts becoming more rigorous and wild. Sansa's fingers clutched on to his back and his hair as she wrapped her legs around him. Sansa, to fight her screams, began to nip at his ear, to his bottom lip drawing blood. She sighed into his mouth, as Petyr began to massage her breasts in a circular motion. 

"I want to hear your cries and wails, sweetling. Don't fight them." Sansa then moved her hips in time to meet his thrusts, causing them both to moan loudly. "Oh Sansa, yes. Gods. You're beautiful."

Petyr could tell Sansa was close like he was, she writhed underneath him as she tried to contort her body so that she would reach spots deep inside of her. "Come for me, Sansa. Say my name. Beg for me." He grunted as his face buried between her breasts, kissing and flicking her nipples. Sansa gripped his ass tightly bringing him closer to her. 

"Gods Sansa, fuck me." 

Petyr thrusted deeply into her, growling and her walls finally contracted against him. Both reached their climax, and Sansa yelled "Petyr" as she breathed heavily. Petyr rested on top of her, his fingers entangled in Sansa's hypnotic tresses. They made love frantically, each wanting to have taken each other direly. 

Petyr kissed her lips, rolling off beside her and pulled on his boxers. He brought his hand to the back of his head, resting and leaning on the side of his body. He nuzzled his nose in her dimples bringing a sweet laugh from Sansa's mouth. Sansa slid her toes to the bottom of her bed, feeling the silky exotic fabric. She blushed, aware of her nakedness in front of him. He smirked sensing her modesty. 

"My love, don't worry. You will no longer be tortured, mistreated or controlled by those who see you as an object. You, Sansa Stark, are a strong, fierce woman. And..." He rested his hand along her stomach, brushing his fingers gently. "You're too fucking gorgeous to be hidden." He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it in between his muttering, "that was amazing." 

Sansa smiled at him, caught between embarrassment and another twitch of arousal. She heard her cell phone start to ring from her pant pocket on the pillowy floor. _It could be news about Myranda._

Petyr understood, following her train of thought, and said "Office Giantsbane, maybe? Do you have that number saved in your phone?" Sansa had got up, hustling over to her phone to answer. She could feel Petyr's stare from behind her, bringing another pinkish tint to her cheeks. She glared at him, her eyes swiftly looking at him and back to her phone. She huffed and Petyr laughed outloud and winked. _She's perfect._

"Dammit, I missed it. Maybe I should call back?" _Hmmm. What should I..._

Her thoughts were interrupted as Petyr played a song from his phone. Turning up the volume, he began to walk towards her pulling her back to the bed, smirking. 

 _Never know how much I love you, never know how much I care_  
When you put your arms around me, I get a fever that's so hard to bear  
You give me fever - when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight  
Fever - in the the morning, fever all through the night.

Petyr led Sansa back to the bed, placing his hands on her shoulders. She sat down on the edge mesmerized by his eyes, the song and his voice slyly singing along, an octave lower. 

Sansa had already felt the wetness pool between her legs, turned on by Petyr's spontaneity... _his face, his body so sexy._ Sansa  bit her lip as he pushed her down so that she alone laid on the bed. "Petyr" she gasped out. "Wait, what are you-" 

"Shhh, Sansa." Petyr pressed his finger to her lips hushing her. 

 _Sun lights up the daytime, moon lights up the night_  
I light up when you call my name, and you know I'm gonna treat you right  
You give me fever - when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight  
Fever - in the the morning, fever all through the night.

Sansa's phone rang again, and she regrettably answered it. Once she saw the glint of an idea in Petyr's eyes she knew she had made a mistake. "Hello?" 

"Hi, is this Sansa?" 

"Yes, yes it is." Sansa suppressed a moan, as Petyr had licked the entirety of her slit in one swipe. "Who is this?" _Clearly not Officer Giantsbane._

"Oh, ow." _Gods Petyr. Not now._ Petyr pressed his tongue inside of Sansa's folds, feasting on her. He whispered "you taste so good, Sansa." _I knew you would._ Her eyes hammered shut, as he continued to pleasure her.

"This is Myranda." Sansa's eyes snapped open and she leaned up mouthing " _myranda!!"_  to Petyr. He simply pushed her down again, unphased.

"Um, uh..."

"Sansa, I know what you must be thinking. And let me tell you that I knew nothing. Truly, I didn't." Sansa could not control her moan as the combination of Petyr's fingers and tongue provided a blissful pressure against her clit. "Uh Sansa are you still here?"  

"Yes, gods, yes I am." _Shit, fuck you Petyr._ Sansa's only free hand traveled to Petyr's head, gripping it and forcing him further inside of her. 

"Sure, great, anyways... I was hoping we could meet soon. To talk? I feel terrible. You deserve an explanation." 

Sansa grunted, clenching Petyr's hair. Wanting to force Myranda off the phone, she said quickly "That would be fine, just text me the details."  

"Of course, we'll be in touch. I'll text you." 

"Okay, buh-bye." Sansa hung up the phone without giving Myranda another chance to speak, releasing hyterical groans. "Petyr, you pain in the ass-" she moaned and bucked her hips into his face. Petyr was licking and sucking on her, almost bringing her again to orgasm with the force of his tongue. "Come for me again, sweetling." 

Sansa's thighs finally shook, feeling faint coming down from her high. She sighed as Petyr kissed her again; she tasted herself on his lips, the saltiness of her arousal. "Petyr" 

"Yes? You seemed to like that Sansa... I plan to continue to pleasure you in several ways after tonight. This was only the beginning." 

 _Yes, Petyr I want all of you._ Sansa responded by licking her lips and stroking his member with her foot, smiling. She added more seriously, "I think this is also not only the beginning of Myranda's wrath." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HAPPENED. phew we did it people. Some feverish Petyr x Sansa to the max. Jumping into the trashy smut bin!!
> 
> I want Myranda to have some ambiguity and complexity, so if she's confusing to you all great! lol ;) 
> 
> Thanks for everything people ! ~ I appreciate you reading my work; I do feel vulnerable about it :)
> 
> I thought the song 'Fever' suited this chapter, all the lyrics do not belong to me!


	9. Before Nine

Petyr watched Sansa's chest rise and fall steadily as she slept beside him. Both of her elbows were bent, splayed over her head. Her pillow barely seen as it was covered with her red locks. He chose to sleep over with her rather than returning to his own flat in London. _Which I rarely even stay... I'll have to show her within the week..._

He had woken earlier than she. Petyr smirked imagining he and Sansa that fateful night... _just last night. It has always been more than lust, I hope she knows that._

Petyr remembered the fluttering of her eyelashes, the tips of them when closed long enough to brush her cheeks. He was enamored with her blushes, her explicable shyness with her body due to those who have abused her in the past. He wanted Sansa to be touched, kissed and loved...and to be able to _feel whole a_ gain.

He began to sing to her soothingly, his deep voice just above a whisper. 

_You don't know what you do to me_

_You don't have a clue, Sansa._

She hadn't moved or heard him. Her breath swelled as she loudly sighed, in and out. Occasionally he watched her move her head, cozying herself falling deeper into sleep. 

Petyr's mind swirled to the time he had first seen Sansa at his wedding, a few years back. He had only observed her, for a short time, but it had felt endless. She was a moving photograph of her mother at that age; her features were nearly identical. Except, Petyr noticed something that was different about Sansa: her mind. Cat had always seemed to be occupied, outwardly engaged with others and very lively. Sansa was lost in her voracious head, a mysterious foreboding quality to her. Her mind was countlessly ticking like the hands of a clock, processing. Like Petyr himself. _That was then_. From his studying, he noticed that she was not one to dwell on her thoughts, despite her appearing rather pensive. She simply was introverted, yet Petyr could feel her quited power surging through her. She was stronger than Cat, that much he could see. He was more than intrigued by her; he had felt connected somehow. 

"Petyr!" Lysa ran to Petyr embracing him eagerly from behind, kissing his neck. He felt himself shiver from his disgust not his excitement at the memory. "Where have you been? We need to have our first dance!" Her head snapped, and she jumped in front of him. "Who are you staring at?" 

Lysa's eyes followed his gaze at the young fourteen year old girl, humbly sitting at a table by herself, poised. "No one of importance, my wife." _Just a beautiful, intelligent young girl._ _One worth more than I could ever offer...one far too young._

"That's my bitch of a sister's daughter, Sansa. The Starks... they're not worth your time, Petyr, the whole family. My ignorant, proud sister. But you married the more beautiful and surprising Tully anyways, hubby." Petyr cringed as Lysa attacked his mouth, deepening her kiss, practically ready to bed him then and there.

She released him. "Tonight, I shall scream so loud they will hear me clear across a narrow sea. I'm done _waiting_ , I will have you so many times."

Petyr diligently followed his new wife into the crowd of dancers, as they played "their" song of choice for their first dance. Petyr suffered through _Stairway to Heaven_ as Lysa clutched his shoulders and hugged him tightly as they danced. She rested her head in between the crux of his neck and shoulders, her steps were staggering along clumsily. She only laughed annoyingly so, causing Petyr to outright ignore her. 

Petyr glanced over in Sansa's direction, noticing her moving closer in to the dance floor, leaving her table. She stood alone occasionally glancing at Petyr, until a young, disgruntled boy stroked the side of her arm grabbing her. It looked as if he offered her to dance. Sansa pushed him away, indicating her denial of his request alongside whatever she had told him. Petyr remembered thinking.  _Rightfully so, that idiot drunk._

Sansa called out to her brother Jon, as he dragged his friend out of Sansa's way, far out of the ballroom. As Petyr revisited this memory, he couldn't help but feel that the young man looked eerily familiar. _Where have I seen him before? He was small and appeared to be overly zealous but not threatening. Not yet anyways..._

Petyr snapped out of his thoughts back to his dreaded wedding. He had only married Lysa for her money, he knew her health was declining. Upon his reflecting, he still knew that his reasons for marrying Lysa were despicable but he no longer cared. _She was a terrible woman_.

As their song ended, Petyr lurched away from Lysa urging her in her drunken state to meet him in the bathroom in ten minutes. She shrieked and giggled, and sprinted out of the ballroom. _She'll likely forget anyways. Thank Christ._

Petyr, with absolutely no desire to meet Lysa in the bathroom stalls, rubbed his temples distressingly. He was temporarily relieved of her, but he knew it would be short lived. They were married, bound until Lysa finally croaked. _But that girl, Sansa..._ He shifted his weight onto one foot leaning and smirking in Sansa's direction in such a way as to signify his solitariness. Petyr was prepared for the song to change into another vomit-inducing, sappy romantic ballad of Lysa's choosing. Petyr walked to Sansa, without breaking her gaze as he realized the one song he chose was playing. She too, did not leave his eyes, her curiousity interfered with her sound judgement. 

Petyr did not say anything as he held out his hand, silently offering her to dance. Her blue eyes were striking in this light; they looked like silver and snowy ice circles, falling on a wintery night. Petyr knew he had not misinterpreted her stealing glances, and he wanted her to know that through his body language.

Sansa took his hand securely as he lead her into the dance floor.

The song had instead played from another musical of Petyr's liking: _Passions_. He had never felt or expressed those feelings in the song he chose with Lysa, Cat or any other woman in his life. _Until Sansa_. And that worried him. 

 _Loving you is not a choice it's who I am_  
Loving you is not a choice  
And not much reason to rejoice

 _But it gives me purpose_  
Gives me voice to say to the world  
This is why I live, you are why I live

 _Loving you_  
Is why I do the things I do  
Loving you  
Is not in my control

 _But loving you I have a goal_  
For what's left of my life  
I will live and I will die for you

 _Loving you_  
Is why I do the things I do  
Loving you  
Is not in my control

 _But loving you I have a goal_  
For what's left of my life  
I will live and I will die for you

Petyr remembered the way she so obviously looked hesitant despite their mutual attraction. He could see her eyebrows raised high nearer to her forehead, and he felt her permeable warmth. As he properly placed one hand on her waist, he clasped Sansa's other hand, feeling her quickened pulse racing on her wrist. Petyr smirked, leering at her. His leer did not make Sansa uncomfortable, that much he could surmise. Little did he know then of Sansa's full physical attraction to him that she buried after their last meeting. They did not speak, neither wanting to be the first to do so as each had thought of it as a game. Sansa's arm glided slowly up his arm, playing with the hairs on the back of his head to his neck. She breathed out calmly, and it was then that he had noticed a faint smell of alcohol on her breath.

 _Shit, she's definitely too young for that. Gods, what am I doing? Trying to seduce my new niece?_ Petyr continued to dance with Sansa in silence, thankful that he had not said anything vaguely sexual or inappropriate to her. _Even though she's making me think such thoughts...._ As the song ended, Petyr hadn't let Sansa go, he only held tighter. She looked like she would fall into his embrace if he were to wrap his arms around her. Petyr badly wanted to kiss her then, forgetting how much he had wanted to until now. Petyr had leaned in, his lips were inches from her. Desire fueled him only then, he merely _wanted_ Sansa that night. He remembered staring into Sansa's eyes noticing the change in them; her eyes looked ashamed and dazed. Petyr had tried to look at her in such a way as to place the blame on himself. He wanted to reassure her, his pupils searched her face, back and forth trying to hide the fire. 

She shook her head, breaking their silence. "I, I'm sorry Mr. Baelish, excuse me." Sansa watched her hand slip through Petyr's fingers, even though it had happened in an instant, Sansa felt like his touch would be gone and never to be felt again. She shed a tear, walking with long strides out of the ballroom. Petyr had waited a few moments before walking after her. As he followed her, he had called out her name hoping she would reveal herself. _She could not have gone far._

Sansa was nowhere to be found. Instead, the drunken boy that had asked her to dance earlier, was nearby. Jealous eyes watched Petyr. They locked their gaze. He was young and short in height. His frame was of a small built, frail and not muscular. _His face, why can't I envision his face? His features are no longer memorable... Why do I feel like it matters?_

Petyr shook off his memory drifting into sleep once more, hypnotized by Sansa's breathing beside him. 

His mind brought him back to another memory, a welcoming house party the Starks had thrown for himself and Lysa a few weeks after their dreadful honeymoon. 

Sansa, newly fifteen, was there amongst her all of her family. Her brothers Jon, Rob, Bran and Rikkon and sister Arya were as well. All of them gone now, torn unfairly away from Sansa forever. He felt her happiness, closeness and comfort in her dream at being surrrounded by her family. Her aura around them was a soothing warm blanket, wrapped around her frame. When she was with the,, she felt safe. 

The Starks, Lysa and Petyr were sitting around the dinner table. Next to Petyr, sat Lysa and across from him was Cat. Eddard sat at the head of the table, quietly bringing up points of conversation irregularly as his mind was often turning. _Like Sansa._

Sansasat farther away from him but he could feel her taking sharp, planned glances towards him thoughout the evening. She looked simultaneously fascinated with Petyr and frustrated. They had not seen each other since the wedding, nor had they even spoke whatsoever. But Petyr could tell that Sansa was itching to. 

She excused herself walking in her sheer black tights and small kitten heels. Her mauve knit dress _was_ exquisitely made; Cat had mentioned to him at dinner that she had spent months working on it. Petyr casually inquired about her likes, her hobbies and school, learning much about her. Sansa opened the door to her refrigerator bringing more drinks and wine over to the table. She leaned over and her sweater lightly touched the side of Petyr's arm. He refrained from looking at her, not wanting to give any indication that he was prying over the young Stark girl. Even though he was. Sansa made her way back to the kitchen area to preoccupy herself away from Petyr. 

Then he spoke, addressing Cat and Eddard. "Would someone mind directing me to the bathroom for a moment?" 

Catelyn responded "Of course, Sansa, you're up. Show Mr. Baelish the bathroom upstairs, okay sweetie? It's easy to miss it, Petyr. She'll direct you." 

Petyr knew Cat would ask Sansa and he smirked briefly at her. Lysa looked at Sansa with deadly eyes, watching her every step leaving the dining room. Lysa added "Quickly now, Sansa. Scurry away." Sansa walked up the rug steps, and Petyr softly ran up beside her finally ready to talk to her. "Sansa." 

"Mr. Baelish." Her hips danced as she walked up each step. 

"Call me Petyr, Sansa. Your name, it feels good to say on my tongue and lips." _Shit Petyr stop._  

"Oh does it _now_? I don't remember us speaking before." They reached the top, both arguing and bickering in hushed tones. 

Petyr looked at her, knowing she would have more to say. 

"Petyr, what do you want?" She paused. "You danced with me that night, at _your_ wedding. You hit on me. As much as you thought you could hide it, I saw it in your eyes. You preyed upon me and you almost kissed me." Petyr felt the ends of her knit dress, pressing it in between his fingers as he rubbed it.

"This is beautiful, you know? Your dress. You're very talented." He changed the subject, looking at her. "Sansa, did you want me to stop then?"

"What?" She was exasperated, "yes, obviously I did. I walked- _ran away."_ The color rose in her cheeks. She wanted to be afraid of him, despise him, but she couldn't. He could tell. She felt it too. Petyr moved closer to her. His fingers were holding the back of her head, while his thumb stroked her ear and her jawline. "You're married to my Aunt, yet you clearly don't want to be." 

"Do you think you know what I want Sansa?" He sneered at her, yet he continued to touch her delicately confusing her. "Well... do you want me to stop now?" Petyr looked at her lips once more, his eyes begging to her seeking permission. 

"No." She squeaked out. Petyr moved in to press his lips onto hers but as they barely touched, as her lips grazed his, she spoke. 

"Here's the bathroom, Uncle Petyr. Until the next time." She spoke huskily, determined to turn him on even though he already was.  

Petyr held her wrist, feeling her pulse as he had done that night. "Here's a tip, Sansa, you can only play with me if you have what it takes. If you can overpower me....But I don't think you can. Not yet, anyways." Their lips were still touching, neither willing to remove them. 

"But I will." 

Sansa turned, and walked down the stair case. At the bottom, she looked up at him as she knew he would still be standing there, watching her. She looked bashful once more, rushing out of his sight. He heard Lysa yell "Took you long enough. Did you get lost, little girl?" Petyr had smirked at that, knowing Sansa's blushes would be severe. That was the last time he saw Sansa before _Nine_. He had never thought of her after that, until she stepped through the doors of The Mockingbird. 

Petyr's dreams became focused on Sansa, rather than remnants of their limited past. Her cheekbones, jawline and her powerful icy glares that you could cut into ice cubes and place in a glass of water. Petyr felt parched and wanted her again and again. He found himself smiling, unconsciously rotating his hips at the sensation. His cock throbbed and Petyr had reached down only to feel another's hand gripping his member in vertical motions. _Sansa_.

He opened his eyes as he saw her brush her hair from her face, pulling it behind her back as she crouched down in front of his cock. Petyr moaned at the sight in front of him, and he could not manage to control himself. He bucked his hips as Sansa rolled her tongue on the tip, licking around his member. He growled her name repeatedly as he grabbed her red hair massaging it forcefully. She began to suck harder, taking more of him into her mouth. She had hummed as he had done to her, feeling mutiple vibrations through him. 

She swirled her tongue around him, using her hands to feel around his legs and his balls, tugging on them. Petyr finally found his release, cum dripping in and around her mouth. He pulled Sansa's head to his face, and he kissed her long and hard. 

She nestled on top of him, their legs entwined as Petyr's arm rested on her shoulder pulling her against his chest. They were silent for a while, still undressed from the night before. 

"I started wearing sunglasses because of you."

"Hmmm, I am not sure what you mean." Sansa was still sleepy, nearly floating into her peaceful rest.

"I did not want anyone to be able to read me or to see what I was thinking. At all times. But Sansa, when I am with you I think it is impossible to hide it." 

"Mmmm, you admitted it. Finally. Have I overpowered you now, Petyr Baelish, my one and only Guido?" Sansa playfully licked at his ear and his jaw.

She added drowsily, "I hope Tormund or his whats-his-name partner will call me today. I don't want to have to deal with Myranda alone, really." At that she fell asleep, calmly in his arms. 

 _Shit, I knew I had seen him before...Sansa can't know_. Petyr protectively held Sansa. _I'll watch out for you, my love. I will protect you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE'S FAVORITE LYSA APPEARS! ;) lol and our mystery man...who will be important much later. When more craziness happens! 
> 
> hmm I wanted to include some funky flashbacks to provide an interesting contrast between Petyr and Sansa's past and future and to justify some backstory (especially the history/feelings between them)
> 
> Oh and a bit of smut!!
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)


	10. You're Too Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Hope you like it ;) thanks lovelies

Petyr walked into The Mockingbird; unbeknownst to Sansa, Petyr was meeting with Myranda prior to their rehearsals. As Petyr left he saw Sansa asleep, slumped on the many pillows scattered across her bed. His mouth twitched into a smile at the image. Petyr's phone was vibrating incessantly; he was being spammed with text messages, exclusively from Olyvar. 

8:21 AM: _Did you two do it?_  

8:23 AM: _DID YOU DO IT?_  

8:26 AM: _Ros, I bet they did. YES but tell me. For real._

8:27 AM:  _No fucking details, a simple YES or no. You bastard._

8:27 AM:  _Oh god no Olyvar he WOULD do that. Lol, don't. I'll beat your sorry ass._

_Shit this is a freaking group text, it'll never end. Fuck. Fine, maybe I will endulge myself in some poignant information about our night... No, not about Sansa._ Petyr quickly typed back a cryptic message, laughing silently breathing out through his nose. 

Petyr 8:29 AM: _No_. 

Olyvar 8:29 AM: _LIAR_. 

Petyr chuckled, placing his phone on silent, back into his pocket. He saw her standing center stage, awaiting his arrival. He had texted Myranda to meet her. He knew he would be in agony over meeting with her; he always dreaded their interactions that were no longer related to his profession and her only being his _employee_ per se. 

His text had simply read: _meet me inside the theater at 8:30 am. alone._

She replied: _looking forward to it, Guido. ;)_

Petyr sauntered nearer to the stage, bearing his sunglasses again feeling more at ease with himself. His heart hidden and locked away within the shady brims. 

"Petyr Baelish." Myranda called. "I've been waiting for this." She gestured at their minimalistic set. " Me... this show, should be all about me. Things have changed." 

"Myranda, please. I don't have time for your games. You know why I am here."

"Actually, I don't. You're not axing me from this production, are you? You have no proof as you must know the police found nothing. Ask Sansa, we met the other day."

"I know you did. Because I had just fucked her when you called. Oh and I was eating her out _during_ the call."

Myranda looked livid, the anger passed over her face like an incoming storm that cleared as soon as it appeared. "Implying that you know I did something would be admitting guilt. And I am guilty of nothing."

Petyr reacted immediately. "I know who you're working for."

"And what makes you think I am working for someone, Petyr? Rather strange, isn't it?"

"I happen to know that Harry was just a middle man. Someone who was in your way, but you worked with him regardless. You made him believe he had the upperhand. But, he must have eventually let it slip that... No _you_ found out that Harry had his own plans and that bothered you. You needed to rid yourself of him, and what better way to do it then throw him to a little wolf, removing two of your foes in succession." Myranda audibly scoffed at Sansa being described as a wolf. "Because you, Myranda, you're always cunning and sly...Not one to find yourself out of control."

"Just like you, _Littlefinger_. But look at you now. I'm disappointed." 

Petyr squinted his eyes at her. No one had called him that in years. _She wants me to relate to her, to side with her._

He continued. "I know that you've partnered with someone not very powerful, but highly influential."

Myranda stepped to the edge of the stage, towering over Petyr. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive."

"Why are you telling me this? Why not just turn me in, place the blame on me?" She threw her head back and cackled. "Right, because you have nothing. No proof, no tangible evidence or information. Just your endlessly active and spiraling mind, trying to pin me down." _There's still so much you don't know, Petyr_. "Why don't you go to your pet Sansa so you can fuck like rabbits some more."

"I hope to." Myranda rolled her eyes in disgust. Petyr continued. "And I needed to see you today because I need to tell you something important, only you can know."

"Petyr, I'm off limits to most. But I'll make an exception for you." Myranda placed her hands on Petyr's shoulders for support. She quickly jumped on him, and latched on, sliding her body slowly against his until her feet touched the ground.

Petyr pushed her off, but she clung to him, pulling a gun protruding from her back aiming it at his cock. 

"You're too late, Petyr. Not fast enough. Don't make me shoot this gun at your precious cock. It's not so little, I bet, if Sansa was in such a fit before my phone call. Such a shame to waste it on her."

Myranda laughed as Petyr did not move or reply to her insults. "What? Not defending your sweet special niece?" She added ominously "Do you know where she is?"

Petyr did not know. All he could do was pretend as if Sansa had met nothing to him. _She could be bluffing._

"Knowledge is power." he replied cooly. 

Myranda pressed the gun further into his crotch, tightly. "Power is power, Baelish. See that you realize it now...before it _is_ too late."

Petyr was silent, startlingly so. He reached his hand to grab at his member, Myranda assumed it was because he was excited due to her actions and violent threats. Petyr used his free hand to remove his sunglasses, and he stared into her. He gripped his member tighter, cupping his hand down the length of him. Myranda moaned. 

"I have been aching for you for so long, Petyr, let me help in this way." Myranda shied the gun away from his crotch slowly. As she was about to place it back within her chest, Petyr ripped him from her grasp. Placing the gun in the back of his belted slacks, Petyr spoke theatreningly.

"Like I could get off here with you, or even near you." He was seething. "See? Nothing. This isn't loaded, this is a freaking prop. See to _that_ if you really want to threaten someone's life." Petyr was mocking Myranda, pepetuating her fury.  _I can only fantasize about Sansa, my redheaded, fiery goddess._

_"Nothing,_ is it? Does Sansa mean _nothing_ to you? You might want to try to find her. Who knows where she is since you left her alone. Remember Petyr, rule number 5...'don't be late to rehearsals'." Myranda looked far out beyond the balcony seats at the circular clock ahead, under their lighting booth, "Looks like you have 28 minutes. She might be closer than you think." Myranda mouth curled from her grimace into a satisfied grin. "I almost forgot. What is it that you so ardently need to tell me?" 

Petyr took a few steps backwards, trying to read her. He wanted to run up the aisle but his eyes searched for Sansa, staying in the same spot, diagonal frombackstage. _Where was she looking?_

Petyr reponded. "You're fired. I never wish to see you anywhere near this theater, my production... _or Sansa..._ again _._ If I do, there will be consequences. Myranda, see yourself out." He emphasized greatly, lowering the tone of his already deep voice. "I think it would be best for your future that you don't underestimate me." 

Petyr gestured for Myranda to walk past him, outside the theater. She stomped away, not so gracefully, but rather aggressively. Petyr knew she would be furious, he had always planned for her to lose control due to her anger. Myranda pecked the corner of his mouth, "You know where to find me, especially if you need a good fuck from a grown woman not some worthless teenager. Think about it, Petyr, our hatred...how hot that would be." Her voice dragged into a whisper and Petyr was thoroughly uninterested. 

"I doubt it." Myranda huffed and walked by, muttering so he would not hear. "You're too late, Petyr. It's already begun." 

As soon as he saw her leave, Petyr went out to search for Sansa, remembering where Myranda's eyes had mysteriously paused to look at. He reached into his pocket, ignoring the series of witty banter between Ros and Olyvar, dialing Sansa's number. He heard a faint noise nearby, a powerful theme that suited her. He recognized the sound, following it.  

Petyr unlocked the lighting booth with one of his older, rustier keys. He never liked to go up there in the booth unless it was absolutely essential. It was dark, dreary and lonely, and the dust piled onto each corner and crevace cementing itself, becoming a part of the decor. He rushed up the short staircase and into the small room, seeing Sansa curled into the corner hugging herself. 

Sansa was silent and sullen; her face became wet as she wept, her salty tears streaming down her cheeks formed into tiny bubbles hanging softly, unable to fall any further from her face.

"What are you doing up here? Sansa, please, take my hand. Let's go."

"How could you." It was more of a statement than a question Sansa had posed to Petyr. She knew he had done the unimaginable, she just couldn't believe that he would. _He lied to me._

"Sansa."

"No, you had your chance to speak. You had time to tell me the truth of what is happening around me, what you knew, but you chose not to."

Petyr couldn't look into Sansa's pool of eyes, her face was the definition of devastation. He saw that she was trembling. He wanted to pull her into his arms, never letting her go. Even as she was weeping, Petyr still thought she looked painfully beautiful. "What are you talking about?" 

"You said you would protect me."

"I will. You must believe me when I tell you that I will. Why-"

"I don't think I can believe you anymore." Her voice was hopeless, unfeeling. Her faith in Petyr had nearly been lost. What was once gained in her reliance and acceptance of him, melted away.

Sansa shook, a chasmic shiver shot through her body. "I thought I could trust you. Your eyes... Petyr, look at me. Now."

Petyr's greenish gray eyes reluctantly met Sansa's stare. She processed his expression, slightly relieved almost. "At least you look somewhat remorseful."

"I-"

"Enough. You've put me in danger, it's like I can never escape it. You lied to me, manipulated me. I'm not a pawn, Petyr. Do not trifle with me." Finally Sansa had built to her point addressing her concern, "How long have you known about Olly and Myranda's connection?"

"Just a few days. How did you find out-? About Olly?" 

"You're lying." She said ignoring his question. "Tell me, how long? How long did you know?"

"Ever since we had slept together the first night. I dreamt of you, different memories flashed through my head. You were at my wedding and so was Olly. Of course he's changed greatly since then. Nearly unrecognizable. And then it clicked, we saw him that night, and he's been after us ever since." 

"What about Myranda? Why bring her into this? You know she hates me, and... she was awfully close to you earlier"

"Sansa don't...please tell me what happened. And trust me, Myranda is gone. I removed her from the production. Gone." _For now_.

"What are you playing at?" Sansa clasped her hands together, using her thumbs to wipe away the drops of tears lingering on her cheeks. She took a few, controlled breaths to relax. "I'm sorry." She blurted out.

"Don't be, you have every right to be angry with me. I am so sorry." 

Sansa's steady breathing filled the room. "I received a letter today after you left, shoved under your office door, full of threats. It was cruel and gruesome as it described my "impending" death. _Just like your family it_  read." She stopped, taking her time to reflect and not dwell on the horrors of her past. She loved her family, no one could take away her undying love. "I recognized his handwritting. He'd write me notes, letters and messages all the time years back. I told him continuously that I was not interested. But he was Jon's friend, he'd always seem to be around, lurking in plain sight." She paused, an edge to her voice. "I remember him that day, at your wedding. He wouldn't leave me alone. He tried to find me, but I hid for nearly an hour." 

Sansa got up from her corner, rising with a new, reborn inner strength. "He's now a police officer. I can't believe he's changed so much... What do we do now?" 

_We_? "I don't know." 

"Seriously, Petyr? You don't know. Please no more hiding. You always have an idea turning in your head, tell me." Sansa lifted up some lighting chords from the ground, beckoning Petyr with her index finger to move in closer. He approached nervously, but he relaxed into a smirk once he saw what she was doing. She pushed him down slowly to the ground, his legs criss crossed as Sansa began trying his hands together behind a pole. He smelled her, enjoying her spontaneity.

Sansa stood up, dropping his trench coat that she was wearing to the floor. She wore a low cut cropped black t shirt, and a dark green pleated floral skirt that rested just above the knee. She leaned over the lighting booth, her breats pushed up higher and tantalizing to Petyr. She played with her hair, brushing her fingers through her smooth strands. 

"Come on." He winced and whined quietly and uncontrollably, already flustered and squirming. "You can do better than that." He knew he was pushing her buttons but he liked to see her nose scrunched up, her furred brows and mouth curled into one side. 

"I know I can, Baelish." Petyr let out a small grown when she said his name, he _loved_ when she said it. It was almost like she was reprimanding or punishing him. "All you have to do, is tell me everything you know. I'll wait." 

"Have I been bad, Sansa?" 

"Very. Very bad, Baelish. Keep up your end of the deal, and I will come." Petyr wriggled in his position. Petyr was torn, he wanted to protect Sansa. Keeping her remotely in the dark, allowed her to be free of worry. But, Sansa should know what to expect from Myranda... Petyr felt she was planning something for them...

Petyr watched her strip in front of him, teasingly. She had only just removed her black shirt, revealing her white laced bralette. 

"Anytime now, would be fine." Sansa smirked, waiting to hear what Petyr knew.

"What do you want to know, sweetling?"

"Not going to work." She laughed darkly at his attempt to please her. "Everything." She wiggled out of her underwear, stepping through. Petyr knew he was erect, he needed her, desired her immeasurably. Her seduction was powerful. She added. "Tell me about Myranda. What do you think she'll do because we both know she is coming back. She's not finished."

"So smart, Sansa. Always knew that." Petyr could hardly move, his arms pinned away from her unable to touch her or himself to ease the tension. 

"Charmed. Now what is she capable of?" Sansa stepped closer, toying with the zipper on his pants. 

"She will come for you. Us. But we'll be ready. Gods, please untie me. Let me hold you."

"Almost Petyr, tell me more." She dragged her hands across his member, as she whispered 'more' over and over again. 

"She'll try to kill us, I imagine." Petyr paused trying to interpret her reaction, she seemed unscathed. Almost like she anticipated the worst in her heart, confirming the information silently. After everything Sansa had been through, he knew she was capable of understanding darkness, the gaping pit in Myranda's soul. "Trust me, I will keep you safe. Even if things become shaky." 

"When?" 

"Soon, I bet. I fired her to purpose today, so she'll likely strike around the time of dress rehearsals. But we can be _sure_ it'll be before the show. She's predictable in that sense, she's knows Nine... The Mockingbird is important to me." Sansa pulled off his pants, boxers and shoes rapidly. Petyr moaned at her, distraught, hot and bothered. He felt sweat drip from his face. "Gods. Yes."

"But what does she _want_? Sansa gasped as she clawed her nails through Petyr's short, neat hair. Sansa dangled her underwear in front of him, swinging it hypnotically. 

He laughed lowly, writhing beneath her. "I don't know." 

"We'll have to find out won't we? What Myranda wants...what Olly wants." Sansa hiked up her skirt and rubbed her folds against him moaning loudly, echoing in the lighting booth. Petyr felt how wet she was and he was agonizing over how he could not touch her or pull her inside him. 

"I know what _I_ want. I want you, Sansa. Fuck me." 

"So bad, Baelish. If you insist." She winked, untying him as fast as she could. Petyr was wiggling himself free as she pulled the chords from his arms. He pulled her face into a feverish kiss, his tongue winning in their battle for dominance. Sansa placed herself on top of him, rocking her hips meeting his excited thrusts. 

Petyr groaned animalistically at the feel of Sansa above him. His hands roamed around her torso until one of his hands reached the clasp of her bra, the other gripped her hips. He nipped at her neck, sucking tiny spots, tasting as much of her as possible. He swiftly unhooked her bralette, squeezing and kissing her breasts. 

"Petyr, yes, Petyr!" He thrusted into her, letting Sansa control the depth of his movements. Petyr was hitting spots inside of her and she writhed again, panting. 

Petyr held her close breathing heavily also, his mouth close to hers as he asked "Do you like that, Sansa?" He grinned and kissed her shortly but passionately. "At my wedding did you want me as much as I did? I wanted to fuck you at that horrible dinner party too." Petyr grunted as he pictured Sansa that day, inexperienced and slightly shy and innocent. _How she's changed..._

"Yes."

"Yes what, my girl?" Petyr was so close, and he knew she was too. "Did you want to fuck me like we are now?" He groaned again as Sansa screamed his name at her climax "Petyr! Gods yes." 

Petyr spilled inside of her, achieving his release right after, grunting Sansa's name. He wrapped his arms around her, tossing her body on top of his, each taking sharp breaths. Sansa giggled causing Petyr to smile sweetly at her, unexpectedly. He brought his index and middle finger to the back of her neck, running them delicately in between her red small curls forming in her hair. 

"Sansa." 

"Yes?"

"I'll always fight to protect you and keep you happy...until I die." Petyr meant every word, omitting the word 'love' from his declaration. He had hoped that Sansa would know inside that he had felt those sentiments. 

She did. Sansa simply smiled and kissed his lips tenderly. She held the side of his face, occasionally tickling his small beard trimmed on his chin. 

"We have much to plan for, Petyr." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMMM Olly... Myranda... Kind of a wtf pairing, I know. lol
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting and giving kudos :) it makes me feel good ~ 
> 
> Love.


	11. Listen to Me (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap, here we go...

Crisp air blew threw Petyr's open window above his bed in his apartment in London. He had planned to have Sansa stay for as long as she wanted to live with him. He was not exactly hesitant and nervous about inviting her over, but he was slightly concerned of his own intentions towards her. In the past if Petyr had ever thought about indulging himself with any number of women patrons of his theatre, he would never invite them to stay at his place. It would become messy...too private. He would have quickly dashed to his office, choosing to meet there.

Sansa was different. When Lysa passed he considered seeking her out, but somehow he knew, she would find him. He just wasn't prepared of the effect she had on him. _What are you doing to me, Sansa?_

Petyr rolled out of bed, ready to endure the upcoming hectic tech week with dress rehearsals.

Ros, Olyvar and Sansa had arrived before Petyr. Olyvar had Sansa laughing hysterically. He could never be jealous of Olyvar's loving relationship with Sansa except for the way he made her laugh. It was not shrill like Lysa's, not overtly fake and high pitched like Myranda's; it was like a sweet song, a hidden melancholy sound strung underneath it. Her light overpowered the dark clouds creeping in her mind, she glowed and her all together hue was inviting. Petyr was staring at her, and apparently Olyvar had started to yell.

"Yo! Hellllloooo. Boss, what the hell? We know you're in love, let's get on with it. Damn, Sansa how do you deal?" She blushed, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and from the idea of Petyr ever loving her. "We, that means me and you Petyr, really need to rehearse with this bunch if we expect this musical to not be a shit show. Just picture Sansa during our end kissing scene, after all I will be playing your wife." Olyvar winked at Sansa and whispered to Ros as she laughed.

"Funny, Olyvar. Everyone go backstage and see Miss Mordane, she's prepared costumes for all of you based on the fitting we had months ago." _Us now I guess._

Ros walked up to Petyr as Sansa followed Olyvar, Leila and the other supporting cast members back stage. She approached in such a serious way that it almost startled Petyr at first.

"What is it Ros? You look like you have something on your mind."

"I am worried about you. About you and Sansa."

"What do you mean, exactly? Tell me."

"I think it's obvious, Petyr. You just got rid of Myranda. She's been in almost every one of your plays since you opened The Mockingbird. You know she has talent and drive. But she is also fearless. She'll stop at nothing until she gets what she wants. And...um. And..."

"Ros." Petyr warned her, "finish."

"And you were like that, too. Before Sansa. You of all people should understand how dangerous that is. How ruthless she can become."

"I think I understand, Ros. Now please get dress-"

"Listen to me when I am talking to you!" Ros urged, she looked sincerely worried. "Stop acting like you are in control. Because right now, you're not. And that scares me." Her words heightened with meaning as she stressed each syllable with fervor. "Sansa is no longer afraid and neither are you. Olyvar and I completely grasp the terrors of her past; Sansa has hope, she clings to the dream that she will be alright, safe with you Petyr. If the both of you remain blissfully unafraid, she'll come for you."

She added with finality. "I bet you've hardly discussed the gravity of firing Myranda. I don't mean to sound so...not me. But I care about you both. So yeah."  

Petyr's eyes shifted from left to right, severing her words in his head. She was right. Everything she said was true. He had always appreciated Ros for her bluntness, her stamina in her performances and her infinite wisdom.

"Ros." Petyr was quiet, a bare whisper escaped his lips. "What do I do?"

Ros warmly smiled back at him. "Stay by her side. Sansa can defend herself, just support her choices and actions. That's what's important now."

*      *

Petyr had left Sansa in his apartment to explore, she was the only one he would be comfortable with staying there. Not even Olyvar had stepped through his doors. He had hoped he'd find her on the balcony, gazing out at the vast night sky, her flowing hair resting on her back.

He unlocked his front door and what greeted him was the sound of silence. It was alarmingly quiet, each creak he made on his wooden steps filled the tiny hall. He grew worried and uneasy, he had only been gone for a half an hour. He left Sansa as she was about to bathe; as much as Petyr wanted to join her, but he needed to attend to some affairs with the Hardying theater. It became increasingly tiresome to maintain both, but Petyr would find a rhythm eventually. He had his ideas for how to manage, hoping they would be accepted. Despite his fatigue and wariness, he held his composure, unlocking and twisting the door frame at a tediously slow pace as to not make any noise. 

He called out Sansa's name instantly to assure her safety. "Sansa? Are you alright? Where are you?" Petyr shrugged off his coat, it was strangely warm in his apartment. Investigating further past the grey wooden island in his kitchen, into his master bedroom. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he saw Sansa, wrapped in a white cloth towel, hair damp, sitting on his bed.  She was mischievous and coy, and Petyr was thrilled to see her in such a delicious state.

Her damp hair looked crinkled and was placed on one side of her shoulder, flowing near to her waist. She was statuesque sitting on his bed. Her legs were bent underneath her. Petyr thought she looked exquisitely beautiful, mermaid like....

Her demeanor however was off, she looked like she was quivering barely noticeably. And considering the high temperature of the room, Petyr was concerned. "Sansa, what's wrong?" 

A voice from Petyr's on suite bathroom called out suddenly. "What's wrong is that little Sansa here is in trouble, Littlefinger. You're too slow."  

Olly stepped forward, stronger and powerful, than he had seen him at his wedding. He pointed a gun at Petyr, while Olly's other hand calmy rested by his side. His breath released a pungent stench of alcohol. "It's a shame that I missed Sansa bathing earlier. It would have been such a sight. But, of course, there's still time." Sansa shook, unprepared at Olly's intrusion and his wickedness. Olly walked near to the bed, using his free hand to grope the length of Sansa's bare arm.

"Olly! Let her go." Petyr yelled terrifyingly so. His voice carried through the space of his apartment. "Deal with me, not her." 

"Not yet." He chuckled softly."We have a plan, you see. You must have figured it out by now." 

"Do you mean you and Myranda? She's likely using you. _You_ must have figured _that_ out by now. After having joined the Night's Watch here in London, I would hope you'd have gotten in somehow, not just from sheer luck and knowing the right people." Petyr added more convincingly, "Myranda has always had her own plans." 

Olly grimaced. Doubting his blind faith in Myranda. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" Petyr looked at Olly's drastic change in appearance and compared it to the childish, inexperienced boy that he had seen years before. _But_ _h_ _e's still that idiot, immature teenager trapped in an roguish, more threatening body._

"Fuck you, Littlefinger. You didn't care about anyone but yourself until Sansa. I have loved her for years, before you had even set your green beady eyes on her! As soon as you looked at her on your freaking wedding night, and she gazed at you blushing deeply, I knew I could never have her... I also knew that you would never deserve her." 

"Oh, and _you_ think you do?" 

"Yes, I know I do!! You are such an asshole. Get out of here before I decide to shoot you." Olly waved the gun, gesturing for Petyr to leave immediately. His anger was flaring, the consumption of alcohol was influencing him strongly. 

"I thought you had to follow a plan, Olly. This seems like you are diverting from such. I don't think Myranda would like that." 

"No, he's playing into it perfectly." Myranda appeared from behind Petyr, fatally shooting Olly almost instantaneously. His body fell, lifeless. "Now, shall we begin?" 

Sansa screamed and shuddered under Myranda's lethal stare. Sansa had cinched her towel so that it clung to her body, tied in a knot under her armpit. "Myranda, please, what do you want from us? You've already tried to kill me once. I don't fear death anymore, it's inevitable." 

"Very good, Sansa, you're right. Death will come for you, but not tonight. I know that you are impenetrable, except for one thing." Myranda pointed her loaded gun at Petyr. "He's your weakness Sansa. Nothing else, no one else matters. You have no one left but him. Petyr was obvious in his affections for you, everyone could see. But you, you're difficult to read, aren't you? You tried to hide it with your false innocence and your pretend playful games." 

"Myranda, stay away fro-"

"Shut up, Petyr. Let us girls talk."

It began to thunder boldy, lightning thrashed and cracked loudly. The lights flickered, twitching a few times, but stayed on. Another boom, followed another as rain crashed around them. Each crack more tumultuous than before. 

Myranda grinned. She fired her gun at Petyr's shoulder and then at his shin, as she watched him fall to his panneled floor board. Sansa yelped, wanting to run by his side. Petyr groaned in pain, unable to move from the corner of his bedroom, helpless.

"See?" Myranda chimed. "Love, love is what breaks us. It's not an illusion anymore to you, Sansa, you feel it." 

Sansa looked at Myranda, breathless in her voice. "And I know what you want, more than anything." Sansa understood her intentions visibly. "You want control over The Mockingbird and the Hardying theater." 

"Clever girl. Petyr, she's far more intelligent than you are. You're such an ass, everyone knows how slick and smart you are. But she is suave."

"And yes, Sansa, I do want to seize control of this Theatre district because I have earned it. I am worthy of such a prize." 

"You will not win, Myranda." Sansa spoke with more nerve and confidence than she felt, but she had to seem so otherwise. Petyr spoke up in a raspy voice. 

"Why include Olly in this, aside from his influence in the police? He's a throwaway Night's Watch cop, irrelevant in your schemes."

"Hmmm, Sansa do you care to explain to Petyr? Your lover? Or are you not as savvy as you appear to be?" 

Sansa understood Myranda perfectly. For the first time, she had managed to see her intentions clearly as if they were layed out in front of her. "Beginning with Harry, any suspicions we had of Myranda were debunked conveniently by Olly, despite the truth to our eyewitness account and my story. Tormund was his partner; Olly must have manipulated the facts, convincing Tormund of her innocence. Ruling his death an accident and his attack on me, entirely Harry's doing." 

Sansa had paused for a short time, feeling sluggish, defeated and disheartened. "Tonight, Olly was drunk and disorderly just like Harry. Petyr, you've been shot, losing blood every minute." Sansa's voice faltered, shaking. She wanted to be by his side if he were to die. "Angry over our past and current history, Myranda could make this seem that Olly merely stumbled upon this apartment in hopes to kill us both." 

"You're getting warmer, Sansa, so so clever." 

"I can only guess that you Myranda would relay this tragic story to the police in such a way that our deaths had took place, due to Olly's outburst. You escape freely, as an unassuming Olly was shot by you out of...maybe self defense? Fear? Both? It doesn't matter because they'll believe you. He's dead anyway." Tears bubbled in Sansa's face, clouding her vision. Her body was both hot and cold, numb and alive. A paradoxical feeling, that could not be explained. She had wanted to fight but what was the _point_? They were helpless. 

Sansa watched Myranda smiling widely, triumphant. She spoke again. "Wow, I am impressed with you, Sansa. Just slightly though. Not enough to beat me though, I always win. Petyr. I will agree to keep Sansa alive if you sign over both the Mockingbird and Hardying Theater in my name. You have my word as a Rhoyce." 

Sansa could not take it anymore. Her limbs felt restless, she could no longer remain passive or juvenile. _I cannot act like this woman that she is making me out to be. Who she thinks I am. I'm not that girl. I'm Sansa Stark of Winterfell._

"If you promise not to hurt her, then I will sign accordingly." Petyr could not move, he felt dizzy, lightheaded and utterly useless. He felt his body drifting away, each slight movement becoming an effort and a blurry haze. His eyes met Sansa's. "I promised you that I would protect you, always. I have failed you, but just let me save you now while you can have the chance to live fully like your heart cravingly needs." Blood seeped through Petyr's dress shirt and pants, darkening his appearance and visage. His eyes were heavy, dark circles forming under his sockets. "I hope you know that I love you, Sansa. I have since that day you ran away from me, after our dance. I just never admitted it to myself." He locked eyes with Myranda, blinking and shutting his eyes to ignore the pain. "Let me sign." 

Sansa wanted to cry, weep into his arms and kiss him all over. _I love you too Petyr._

Myranda rolled her eyes at their sentimental display. "Jesus, Petyr. When did you become a romantic? Pathetic. Just sign here and below, right here." She had a series of documents and forms prepared. With Myranda's back turned, Sansa fumbled quietly in Petyr's side dresser, pulling out his sharpened dagger. She hid it behind her toweled body and stepped closer, tiptoeing to Myranda and Petyr.

"Hurry the fuck up, you can't die on me before you sign." Petyr was stalling as he had previously told Sansa during their brief planning, _If you are ever in danger, and I am not there, find my dagger. It's in my bedside table. Be quick and sharp, do not hesitate._

"Petyr, I love you too. More than anything." Sansa acted through her fake sobs and added to the drama of their situation. Petyr fought hard to suppress his smirk. _If she moves just a bit closer, I'll muster enough strength in me to shove her down._ He listened to Sansa, transfixed. 

"But you were never required to save me. I'm my own hero." 

Sansa lunged at Myranda. Thunder struck once more, swiftly yet vehemently. What followed was a stark, defeaning silence.

And then it was black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened, sorry to leave on a cliffhanger!! ;) Aaand Olly is out of character in that he is not a young child... I wrote him imagining that he was given the chance to grow up and prove himself in his physicality to the Night's Watch, for example lol.
> 
> I never really anticipated that I would write so dialogue heavy...should have known (theatre nerd) 
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos, it's so nice. :) love reading 'em!! <3


	12. Listen to Me: (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primarily through Petyr's perspective in this one... bum bum bum BUM

And then it was dark. 

Sansa lunged for Myranda but lost her footing as darkness overcame her sight. She could not see anything in the impenetrable blackness surrounding her. They were uncomfortably silent compared to the roaring thunder and the pouring rain. She wondered who would uncover who first. 

Sansa did not have to wonder long as she heard Myranda's voice yell, piercingly. _Petyr must have disarmed her somehow... I hope. I'll just remain quiet and discreet, trying to free Petyr from Myranda._

The silence was again lapsed by another booming crack of thunder, as the rain continued to pound against every window and boarded siding of Petyr's luxury apartment. The storm reflected their inner life-threatening turmoil and Sansa could not help but feel afflicted.

Petyr was enormously dizzy. Dragging his weighted and slumped body, he felt a steady sharp pain sweep across his forehead. If Petyr could see more clearly, the room would have appeared to spin, becoming lopsided and tipsy. He staggered around to feel for the gun he kicked away from Myranda. As the gun had fell, all he heard was a faint swishing sound brush the dark brown laminate floor. Where it landed, he had to discover.  _Sansa where are you? My love, don't leave me._

Petyr continued to frantically move around at a tedious pace; lying down clawing on his stomach with one arm holding his bleeding shoulder and the other supporting his stretches. Leaving a trail of blood, streaks hidden from view, Petyr was near delirious. His eyes began to blink more frequently. Finding relief in their closed state, Petyr pictured Sansa the day he had first seen her. His memories flashed blurring into reality, and he was suddenly dwelling in his convoluted mind at such an inopportune moment. 

"Sansa." Petyr's dream-like visions took over and Lysa appeared clutching Sansa, her bony thin fingers clenched around Sansa's neck. He was no longer remembering the past, but was hallucinating parts of the scene in front of him. He saw Lysa cowering over her, menacingly. She loosened her grip from her neck and kicked Sansa effortlessly, pushing her body so that she slammed against the bedroom wall. He heard soft cries and sobs calling his name, but Petyr felt paralyzed and mute. He was frozen in time, locked in a libo frame of mind. _Why is Lysa here? She's dead..she. Fuck no, not Sansa, please no. Not her. No._

Petyr saw Lysa swirl out of view. His eyes were so strained, squinting and trying to adjust in the lack of light. As Lysa faded, Myranda appeared beating Sansa ruthlessly. _Sansa. Sansa._ Petyr could not speak and could not move; he could only watch trembling. He heard a single gun shot, followed by two emphatic thuds. One fell lifeless, the other drained and weakened.

Petyr felt secure and familiar arms wrap around his blood-soaked body. He remembered screams filling the room, and then he passed out. Deprived of his usual control and function, Petyr collapsed fully into comforting arms, pillowed on her lap. Before losing consciousness, he heard a subdued soothing voice: "Stay with me."   

*       *

Petyr woke up, his eyes fluttered, slowly revealing the contents of the room he was in. The montonony of white and gray tones that consumed the space and a consistent rhythmic beep, indicated that he was in a hospital again. He peered around, his eyes shifting around the circumference of the small room, noticing the minimal necessities scattered around. He was subconsciously looking for the woman who had laid beside him the first time they were in the hospital, who saved his life. The young fiercesome beauty named Sansa who held his heart.

 _Sansa. Are you alive?_ Petyr scrunched his eyes together and pulled his mouth to the side, with lips puckered in, trying to prevent himself from crying. He thought he had heard the beeps strung together, so that they had matched to the flaming heartbeat in his chest. A doctor arrived soon after, her eyebrows raised unreadable yet professional.

"Petyr Baelish, I am Doctor Margaery Tyrell. You've been under our care for around 48 hours now. How are you feeling?"

Petyr shrugged afraid to hear what she had to say. "Fine. Tired."

"Well, you've lost a significant amount of blood so it'll be normal for your muscles to feel groggy and weak. You have no broken bones, but your shoulder and shin do need to heal. That you can do through some physical therapy. We can set up soon." She stopped, becoming more serious. "You're lucky to be alive Mr. Baelish." 

He could not believe he _was_ alive. But it would not matter if Sansa was absent from his life. 

"Thank you, Ms. Tyrell." Petyr closed his eyes momentarily, not in prayer, but fueled by Sansa's tireless spirit and hope. "Where's Sansa?" 

Petyr watched Margaery carefully as she stifened; her back straightened and she held her clipboard tighter to her chest. Avoiding him, her eyes drooped, staring blankly ahead. "She is our patient as well-"

" _Where is she?"_ Petyr asked defiantly. 

He heard a soft sigh escape her lips. Within a split second she recovered from her brief minuscule release of emotion and she slipped into a blank, procedural expression. "Miss Sansa Stark has been beaten terribly. Bruises, a yellowish purple in hue, have formed around her eyes, cheeks, neck, stomach, legs...almost everywhere. That Miss Rhoyce, I understand, had inflicted on her. She has been recovering but not as soon as I would like." 

"But she's alive?" _Gods, Sansa. So I did not imagine it as much as I thought. Her being attacked, I pictured Lysa.. I said I would protect her, but she saved me. I did nothing._

 _"_ She is. Her condition, however is fragile. As I said, her body is not necessarily deteriorating, but it is also, unfortunately, not improving." 

Petyr's left hand formed into a fist, covering his mouth as he ached silently. It was not for his own physical pain, but for Sansa's that he felt somewhat responsible for inflicting on her. "What can I do, Doctor?" 

"You'll be released tomorrow after we run a few tests to ensure your well being. After that, start with physical therapy for a few weeks and your strength should return gradually. You'll be perfectly fine."

Margaery prepared to leave, but stopped herself. "Oh and Mr. Baelish, your production of Nine has been effectively postponed as of yesterday after these...difficult circumstances. A young, energetic man stopped by to see you a few times... I think Olyvar? And he has made this announcement well publicized, however not revealing the details of what happened. The police shall speak with you soon, I believe. We'll talk soon, do not stress."

Petyr did not care about anything else. Not Nine, not the police...only Sansa. "I asked you for your opinion on what I should do. Not about me. About Sansa." 

"I don't know the circumstances of your relationship- nor is it my job to offer such-" 

"Please. Run the tests on me, and show me to her." 

*          *

A day had passed, Petyr was discharged from the hospital holding a folded and crumpled Physical Therapy note, shoving it into his pant pocket. Dr. Tyrell ushered her to Sansa's room. She was stationed far away from his, on a different floor much higher in the multi-story building. 

Margaery Tyrell spoke first, sensing Petyr's awkward fumbling and overall silence as he stared at Sansa through the open door. "I'll be down the hall there in my office if you need me. I should have no more appointments within the next hour. Take your time." She placed a hand firmly on Petyr's non-injured shoulder, almost robotically. "She's asked about you a lot; it's like she's worried about you, and not herself. Tell her to hold on for _her_. I think she assumes it'll be okay. Take care."

Margaery let her arm return to her side, her small heels clicking timely as she walked down the hall into her office. Petyr did not go in until he saw Magaery shut her office door, disappearing entirely. He craned his head forward, stepping through to see Sansa her eyes closed, resting. 

She was right, Sansa did have several bruises outlining her face. He did not want to see the further damage encompassing her frame. Petyr breathed out loudly, and he sat on his knees. Leaning on the cot sitting, he stroked Sansa's hair entangling his fingers in her tresses. "Sansa." His voice was already shaky, so he cleared his throat. 

"You, my love, thank you. I don't say that a lot." Petyr rested his left hand, delicately grazing Sansa's leg, thigh and stopped to hug her stomach. His right hand moved to alternate between massaging her head to cupping her soft, bruised cheek. 

"I have only loved one woman my entire life. Only one. And that's you, Sansa." He choked out the words not letting any tears fall. He kissed her upper lip, and then the bottom, savoring her taste. He then kissed her visible bruises, attempting to heal them with their love. 

"All this pain. It's because of me. You wouldn't be here, if I was less arrogant. I'm so, so sorry. I asked you to believe me when I said I would protect you. You did. And I failed to do so." _I have to distance myself from her. Nine is postponed, I'll call Olyvar and set a date. I have to leave, for now._

Petyr kissed Sansa's mouth again, lingering over her. "Goodbye Sansa." Petyr turned around, feeling that someone was watching him. Assuming it was Miss Tyrell, he had started to talk about his upcoming appointments until he was interrupted.  

"Petyr, don't fuck this up. Don't you dare leave her." Olyvar threatened. "After everything she has done for you, you cannot, you will not, abandon her now." 

"Watch me." 

"Fuck you. You don't get to decide what to do here. Sansa told me what happened." 

Petyr didn't say anything. He only watched Olyvar, slightly ashamed. _She was awake, and talking? No, it's better this way. For me to slip away quietly without hearing her voice. Because I know I would stay if she asked, pleading..._

"She did, she told me everything. How Myranda is a psycho bitch and beat her senselessly. Myranda threw Sansa everywhere, but she thankfully moved her near to the gun. Sansa latched on to the gun, and shot her in the darkness in between her cries and screams. She said she held you and kissed you repeatedly, begging you to not leave her. She phoned the police, Tormund and officers arrived, saving your ass." Olyvar looked around surveying the room, laying the guilt thickly on Petyr. "And now you're here. Leaving her." 

"I can't stay."

"Yes you can, boss. It's not that hard..." 

"But it is!!" Petyr yelled, frustrated and conflicted. "I can't stay with her knowing what she's had to deal with because of me! Knowing what _could_ happen. She's better without me." 

"Yes, you've unwillingly brought Sansa into your world of mayhem and power. But she is the one person who means something to you. You alone did that. You can't leave her idly by knowing how you feel about her, but more importantly how _she_ feels about  _you_. Despite everything, you owe her that." 

"I know." 

"And she loves you." 

Petyr closed his eyes and stared at the floor. "I love her too." He admitted.

"So then, what are you going to do?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petyr you pain in the ass! I took inspiration from my favorite play Angels in America by Tony Kushner. HBO made a mini series that I love so much, check it out.
> 
> But it just makes you think about what you would do in a situation in which staying with someone could potentially cause further harm, unintentionally so, or leave despite loving them, knowing you cannot handle the pain and their own. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! :) thanks for everything guys.


	13. Only You (Part 1)

Sansa stirred, several weeks had passed since she was last in Petyr's apartment trying to survive Myranda's brutal physical assault.

Olyvar and Ros at stopped by many times, as well as her other cast mates, in between her sleeping and tests. She had not once seen Petyr. Sansa had asked them both if Petyr was busy, referring to the unsaid circumstances. Ros would stay silent, with Olyvar grimacing and revealing nothing but sorrow and Petyr's regrets.

Within the first few days she assumed he was still in the hospital recovering from his bullet wounds, but it had been too long as Dr. Tyrell let slip that he was released. Sansa hoped that Petyr had ill-timed his visits as she had been predominately asleep for most of the day. But she knew he would have made sure to see her if he wanted to. She had still wondered if he spoke to her, thanked her....touched her. Sansa missed his touch. She _craved_ it. _I want to see him._ _Where is he?_

Sansa's emotions were inconsistent; she felt angry, lost and even heartbroken. The confusing behavior and lack of explanation from Petyr had frustrated her. _I saved his life, begged him to stay with me. I couldn't lose him...but now why do I feel like I have?_

Sansa was nearly recovered due to careful examinations of Margaery. Her bruises were almost gone; their purple yellowish color were now faint, fading from view. Sensitive to touch, but Sansa knew they would disappear eventually. She wasn't bothered by that, her scars and bruises were not remotely close to the cruelty Ramsay had inflicted on her now almost a year ago. 

Sitting up in her hospital gown, Sansa sipped on the petite glass of water beside the fold-out, dingy cot. Despite her lengthy rests, she had felt tired and antsy.  Her fidgeting had brought her doctor into the room. 

"I have to say I am very pleased with your improvement over these past few weeks. I feared for your health at the beginning stages, but you've got a wolf's strength in you, don't you? You will be able to finally leave us today. I'll discharge you this afternoon." 

Sansa smiled wearily. "Thank you Margaery, for all you have done." Sansa appreciated her sentiments but felt a sense of loneliness visible on her every feature. 

"Miss Stark, one more thing." 

Sansa lifted her head to meet Margaery's deep blue eyes as she removed her green rimmed glasses trimmed with roses. "Yes, doctor?" 

"I was not supposed to tell you this." Margaery took a sharp breath out realizing its idiocy. "He swore me to secrecy last night when he discovered me watching." 

"What are you saying? I'm not sure I follow." 

"Petyr has visited you every night while you've slept since he's been released from my care. He sits with you for a few hours, he'll be quiet, he'll talk and... sometimes he sings to you. Petyr has not stayed over, however; he seems afraid to look into your eyes or hear your voice. He doesn't know I'm aware how much he visits; he thinks he's sneaky. But you can see through him. It's my job to know every exit and loop hole in this hospital. So it's obvious when he visits, especially when he tries to avoid my office. Humorous, really. Men think they're so clever."

Sansa hasn't said anything as her eyes swelled with tears. Margaery silently accepted that as a means to continue. 

"I don't know how you feel about him, Miss Stark. He's clearly complicated and insufferable. But I think I have seen enough to know that he loves you in an unusual way." 

Sansa started to cry uncontrollably, exhausted and utterly confused beyond reproach.  Margaery looked uncomfortable but was a customary state of some of her patients in the past. Margaery held Sansa's hand and rubbed it motherly. She continued.

"I don't think your friends know what he has been doing for the past few weeks, but I do, vaguely. He's preparing you for something based on his conversations with you." Margaery blushed, embarrassed for intruding each time she listened to Petyr. "Forgive me, I only wanted the best for you." 

"No no please don't apologize!" Sansa choked out between her sobs. "Tell me more, thank you for observing us." 

"He...he um. I'm sorry, I think it would be best coming from him." 

Sansa sniffled, recovering from her strings of emotions clouding her head. She took a few short breaths. "Thank you again, doctor. No offense, but I'm relieved I'll be out of this bed.... I don't know what to do about Petyr... I want to confront him. I have so many questions to ask. His absence doesn't make sense."

Sansa stopped, not wanting to drag her doctor into her personal life. "Now I should apologize, you don't need to listen to my bumbling thoughts." 

"Sansa." Margaery addressed her by her name, her professional demeanor switching. "I have no opinion on the matter. However, I do know where you will find him." 

*      *

Margaery had given Sansa an address close to the Mockingbird theatre. She had been discharged; Margaery not wanting Sansa to wear her bloodstained clothing, gave her some of her clothes to wear that were stowed away in her office. She was wearing a simple light cotton blue dress. It draped effortlessly over her body and strangely, even though it wasn't hers, Sansa felt more like herself than she had in a long time.

It was still hot, nearing towards the end of the summer and Sansa's birthday. She hadn't celebrated since the death of her family. It was just a day, like any other. She didn't need reminding or celebration. 

Sansa took a cab from the hospital to the address on the note pad Margaery lended to her. The cab came to a sudden halt on the Theatre district of London. Tipping the driver and stepping out into the street, Sansa stood in front of the place she had never expected to see. 

It was the Hardying Theatre only not as how it was originally described to her by Harry, Ros or even Myranda. The outside was decorated beautifully, blacks and greys were now livened by golden plates with a light pinkish tint. It looked exquisite, like a refurbished older theater. She was puzzled, but Sansa nevertheless stepped inside the space. 

The inside matched the decadence of its outer beauty. Sansa had dreamed for a theater to look like this and had even matched some of her wishes. _Petyr_. Sansa sighed wistfully, hoping and dreading to see him. She pushed through the double doors to the stage itself in awe of what layed out before her. Amongst the newly desgined theater, Sansa saw Petyr alone on the stage working furously to finish the last details of the intense project he had accomplished for Sansa. The hall was filled with music from the soundtracks of his favorite musicals, and Sansa had chuckled quietly when she saw him animatedly mouthing the words. 

Petyr was too busy singing and tidying to notice Sansa's entrance. She walked down the aisle, and hopped onstage to meet him as his back was turned. Sansa's flats slid across the matted stage floor, not omitting any sound. When she was close enough, Sansa finished the words to the song, singing in tune with the lyrics. "Petyr." 

Petyr hesistantly turned around and his eyes looked everywhere but her eyes. His gaze enveloped her long legs, her familiar hips and frame, her muted bruises and her pronounced collar bone. Staring at the swell of her breasts rising with each breath peaking out of her soft dress, Petyr's eyes lingered on the scars on her neck where Myranda had gripped her finally moving to her sparkling, misty eyes. He couldn't speak. 

"So, this is where you've been for the past month?" Sansa looked out into the vastness of the old Hardying theater. "It's truly gorgeous. I never knew it looked like this." 

Petyr remained silent. He was ashamed for not speaking to her, but he had been more afraid of what would happen if he did. It all seemed trivial now. He had spent hours upon hours renovating, for Sansa alone. All it took was for Olyvar to call out his bullshit and press Petyr's insecurities. He felt fragile around Sansa. 

"You visited me, every night. Dr. Tyrell told me. You held me and sang to me.... Why didn't you sleep by my side until I awoke, so I would know, just once, that you cared for me? Why didn't you?" Petyr knew Sansa well, she was not finished. 

"Every night, Petyr. I thought you abandoned me! I saved your life, and that was how you repaid me? By hiding, fearing what I would say, embarrassed that a woman could save you. I can protect myself. I have many times." Sansa had wanted to yell at Petyr more, delving further into the emotional pain he directly caused her, but she knew it was too wasteful to hate. Too much energy was spent on forgoing forgiveness. Hating accomplished nothing. 

Petyr's head fell, his feet shuffled the floor. "But you've always been this way. You're convoluted, cranky and stubborn. You lack the ability to openly and fully commit to someone. Yet, at the same time, you're incredibly thoughtful and caring, you're romantic and sexy." She could feel Petyr's smirk begin to find its way onto his face, but it dissolved as soon as it showed. 

"Did you do this for me? This theater is exactly how I envisioned in my dreams, from what I would randomly tell you. You made this happen, didn't you?" 

Petyr looked at her eyes again, and saw her tears fall. "Yes." He muttered. "I've been spending my time here. It's yours now, officially. I haven't had the time to add the sign out front. Stark Theatre, a wolf will be embalmed on the entrance. I figured you'd like to have your own creative space. This way, you won't have to be entangled with The Mockingbird anymore."  

"Do you think that is what I want?" 

"Sansa, I have been an idiot. I know that. All I know is that I want to see you happy, and I think this theater can give you that and more."

"But what if I can't do it alone? What if I don't want to do it alone?"

There was hope in Petyr's voice. "What do you want then, Sansa?"  

Sansa stared at him. "I want you, Petyr. I always have. I am just not sure you are able to love me back, openly without fear. What are you so afraid of?" 

Petyr didn't answer. The soundtrack playing in the background ended; its finality emphasizing the importance of Sansa's question. 

"Petyr, you've brought me through some scary situations recently, yes, but none of them have come close to the trauma I have endured with Ramsay. You rid him of my life, without blinking. We rid ourselves of Harry and Myranda. It's just us now. If you can't see that, or accept it, I will have forget you. I will forgive you, but I will forget you if I have to. It's up to you." 

Sansa maturely walked off stage, leaving Petyr to decide. She added. "Thank you, for this. You've honored me and my family and given me a life I didn't know I could have. I owe you my life. And you owe me yours. We're even." She smiled sadly. 

Petyr watched her walk ahead and he could not fathom ever living without her. _What the fuck is wrong with me? I love her. She loves me._

 _"_ SANSA!" Petyr yelled her name as he heard his voice echo all around her. He began to sing. 

_Being just me is so easy to be when I'm only with you._

He paused hoping Sansa would catch that the line he sang was from Nine. Petyr saw Sansa play with her hair, shifting it to one side so it flowed over her chest, covering and shielding her. 

_Open inside and with nothing to hide from your view._

_Seems long ago I was destined to know,_

_And the moment I saw you I knew,_

_I could be totally happy with no one but you._

_Passionate night after passionate night I give over to you._

_Lured by the fire of your endless desire, I still wonder the way it grew._

_Never elusive, it comes exclusively from you._

_Taken for granted, completely enchanted by you._

_Small wonder it seems that my life is made of dreams._

_And of wishes that never come true._

_I wouldn't be lonely if I could only be with you._

As Petyr sang, Sansa moved to the edge of the stage, climbing on top once more. She reached out to hold his hand, but she dropped it suddenly. They locked eyes, inches apart, bodies barely touching. 

Their breathing was in sync. Petyr cupped her face. 

Sansa saw tears in his eyes. She never had before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think and feel free to comment!! 
> 
> I'll be ending this within the next chapter; I have kind of a weird idea floating in my head for another Petyr x Sansa fic... so I'll be mulling that over soon :)
> 
> The lyrics are not mine, the song is called Only You from Nine!


	14. Only You (Part 2)

Sansa had never seen tears in his eyes before. 

Lifting her soft trembling hands, Sansa cupped both sides of his face, rubbing the drops of tears forming at the sides of his eyes. It was a caring, protective gesture, paticularly to Petyr. She knew he was one to struggle with releasing any semblance of vulnerability. 

She leaned in touching her forehead to his, their height evenly matched. Softly nuzzling her nose into him, Petyr sighed and chuckled sillily, boyishly.

The Sansa that had met Petyr that night at his wedding would have huddled away, hidden her affections for fear of rejection. Petyr would have tried to deceive her by manipulating her emotions. Sansa was not a prosaic object of his desires; she was a fleshed out human who he fell in love with.

No longer ashamed of his tears or love for her, both Petyr and Sansa had changed immeasurably. 

While Sansa's hands still held his face gingerly, Petyr pulled her close, enclosing his arms around her in an embrace. She moved her hands to cradle his head, stroking her fingers through the fraying gray hairs on his head. 

Their arms were clasping each other tightly fearing the other one would let go. The closeness secured their bond. Petyr spoke first breaking their infinite silence in the unspoken mutual love between them. 

"I thought I had lost you so many times. Distance. I thought by distancing myself from you, that you would be happier. Protected."

His breathing started to become jagged and irregular. Sansa sensed his nervousness but encouraged him as she kissed below his ear and the scruffy beard forming along his jaw and neck. "Go on, Petyr." 

Her voice chilled him, a racking wintry shiver shook his body. Goosebumps formed all over and Sansa smiled mischievously at her ability to excite him. 

Petyr spoke roughly this time as Sansa slyly slid her palms down his chest, swiftly unbuttoning each until she reached his belt. 

"But I was wrong, my love. Because I don't think I would ever want to be away from you. And I don't think _you'd_ want to either."

Petyr watched Sansa's flame lighted in her eyes as she threw the belt off of his pants. "You're right, Petyr. I will always love you." 

Sansa matched his devilish smirk perfectly. She slipped Petyr's shirt off, leaving him bare chested, as he responded "And I will always love you, Sansa. Want you, desire you and long for you until I die."

Sansa kicked off her shoes, and she asked him as her mouth grazed his lips while she asked "So what are you going to do about it?" 

Petyr did not hesitate, not when this young woman, this vision, wanted to be beside him. Trusted in him and forgave him, after all her hardships inflicted on her. 

"I'm going to fuck you. Make love to you right here in this theater I fixed for you. And only _you_." 

Petyr lifted Sansa's dress off from the hem, swooping it over her and tossing it aside rigorously. Pressing his body to hers, Petyr ravished Sansa's mouth, his tongue tasting every corner and crevice dipping around aggressively. Sansa willingly submitted, arching her back as her breasts pressed against him. 

She inhaled air, nearly gasping for breath. Petyr whispered Sansa's name again and again; neither could be dissuaded of their feelings during their feverish, sultry dance. 

Sansa could feel the inflamed heat flush between her legs. Needed to feel friction, she pulled Petyr's dress pants off and wrapped one leg around him as she began to grind in upward motions. Petyr groaned, echoing loudly in the vast theater. 

Petyr lifted Sansa, gripping her around her bum. He brushed her against the coolness of the proscenium of the stage, and in one swift motion peeled off her underwear. Sansa scraped her nails down his back as she removed his as well, leaving them both unclothed, unrestrained and restless. 

Petyr pressed into Sansa holding her legs as she wrapped them around his back. She clung onto his shoulder as he thrusted inside her fully, noticing how wet she was. 

Both moaned at their intimate contact. 

"I've missed you, Sansa." As she released his grip around his neck and back, Sansa licked the outside of Petyr's lips before entrance. She kissed him passionately, and she loudly groaned into his mouth which each thrust.

She moved to his ear as she nibbled and whispered breathlessly "I've wanted to fuck you onstage for months." 

With that Petyr grunted at her ferociously, pulled out and laid her on the stage floor. "As my lady wishes." 

Petyr thrust into her again, he could feel her walls tightening around his cock. He knew he was ready but he wanted to ensure Sansa reached her peak. 

He pressed one finger, then two, as he rigorously massaged her nub. He heard Sansa's hypnotic cries. "Petyr. I'm so close, more." 

He was infatuated at the way her mouth was open, the bottom of her front teeth barely visible, with her eyes lightly shut. He watched her chin rise in the direction of the overhanging lights, her hair swaying as she tried to chase her orgasm. Her body writhed beneath him achingly. Petyr could stare at Sansa's effortless, natural beauty forever. 

She cried out Petyr's name once more, as she finally felt her legs shake and weak at her climax. Petyr soon followed, releasing and moaning Sansa's name. 

Petyr fell on his back, taking sharp, calculated breaths to recover from their heated lovemaking. Sansa smiled at him, as she rested her head on his chest with her breasts pushing against him. Her arms and head rose with his breathing. 

Petyr spoke quietly, murmuring due to his adjusting and recovering. "Sansa, this is for you. You own it."

"Petyr-"

"You are certainly not required to thank me...especially after _this_ just happened." With that Sansa scrunched her nose, humorously scrutinizing his cheeky comment. 

"You, my love, are the future of the Starks and the bustling world of London's theater district. They'll rally behind you, all the young, eager new talent. Ros and Olyvar are your friends and they know so many people who are willing to have a taste of stardom." 

"I want them to rally behind us both, together. No one could stop us then." Sansa winked at him. "Besides, I would need someone like you, the Director of the Mockingbird, to show me Andrew teach me all I need to know." Sansa's toes stroked the heel of Petyr's foot while she eyed him sensuously. 

She added, while stroking the length of his no longer flacid cock, "I'll need a mentor, as well as a lover, and I can think of only one person who fits that." 

Petyr pulled Sansa flush to his body once more and kissed all of her scars still embedded on her pale, milky skin before pressing his mouth to hers deepening his kiss. He sucked on her bottom lip and said in between her soft moan, "It would give me pleasure to serve as both for you."

Petyr began to lavish her breasts, licking and massaging both skillfully as Sansa positioned herself above him, rubbing her walls against him, prepared to fuck him again and again. 

Petyr and Sansa stayed at the Stark Theatre all night, pleasuring each other in between bouts of sleep throughout. Neither wanted to leave. So they didn't. 

*       *

They woke up entangled in each other's arms, still unclothed, from their escapades from the night before. Petyr managed to find a wool, greenish gray blanket to cover themselves with. It was carefully draped over their bodies, the warmth permeated from the blanket, through their skin. 

It was dark in the theater except for a harsh, blinding light shining above them. It's movement was odd; the light looked like it was searching for something or someone. Petyr clenched his eyes shut at the discomfort, refusing to open them. 

He felt Sansa stir beside him, she sighed sweetly in her dreams.  Petyr kissed her jaw lightly, not wanting to wake her. He squinted and smirked at her tousled hair. Small pieces framing her face had started to tangle in wild curls. In her sleep she looked peaceful as the troubles of her past diminished. The hopes of her future were laid brightly in front of her, with Petyr to share it with. 

Petyr began to lightly trace the back of his fingers along the curves of her face, bashful and in awe. 

As Petyr saw the light trickle nearby he and Sansa again, he turned his head and subsequently breathed out in slight annoyance mixed with embarrassment. Because he knew what was to come...

The cast of the light grew wider, as they moved closer. Petyr heard the familiar voice of Olyvar full of irony and smugness. 

"Well, well Ros we found 'em. Maybe we shouldn't disturb them, do you think? I mean look at this place!" Olyvar was mocking Petyr by imitating his voice, awakening them both fully. 

"Hmm I don't know... It seems we already have. Oop, too late." Ros smiled at them both; with a soft smile lingering on her face. Ros was happy for them both: for Sansa to feel truly loved by someone and for Petyr to embrace life outside of his career.

Sansa muttered "Oh gods. We're  not dressed..." 

Petyr asked repositioning his body so that he faced Olyvar and Ros in the dim theater. "How the hell did you two find us?" Petyr's tone was surprisingly light; he was not angry nor frustrated, but found their predicament to be somewhat amusing. 

"Miss Margaery - excuse me, Doctor Tyrell, but of course." Olyvar bowed causing Ros to laugh and Sansa to purse her lips, holding back her shy, chiming laugh. "She admitted where I'd might find the _both_ of you, but that was yesterday. It seems that you're still here... together, lying rather conspicuously. Clothes scattered around in disarray." Olyvar winked at Sansa in which Petyr rolled his eyes. 

Olyvar continued to tease them further despite Petyr's exaggerated reactions and the rosy color rising in Sansa's cheeks. "So that must mean... that you finally DID IT. Had sex AGAIN. Because I know for a fact that you did before this. Because Sansa is wearing that guilty face and Petyr, you look pretty smug right now you bastard." 

Petyr added "And I would like to have Sansa again, if you'd leave us..." Petyr kissed Sansa's neck, sucking just below her pulse beating rapidly fast due to the combination of anticipation and excitement.

"Gross, no not now. God, wait until we leave." Ros said over Petyr's pressing and welcome advances. "What we really came here for is for _Nine_. We're missing a few cast members... unless you still want Olyvar as your wife? Possibly Officer Tormund who expressed interest in acting? We do have some options."

"Especially if you want a change from Sansa, Petyr, I'm your guy or Tormund if he's your type. You seem to like redheads." Olyvar jested once more finally omitting a boisterous laugh from Petyr.

"I have Sansa, if she'll have me, but thanks for that tempting offer, Olyvar." Sansa kissed Petyr's cheek, wrapping her arms as she held his slender frame from behind.

"Let's hold auditions for a few parts that we're missing, and to have some understudies. You can all keep your roles." Requested Petyr. "Sansa and I will be the primary directors for both The Mockingbird and The Stark Theater. We've been discussing partnering up to do a Festival soon for all other company's in the district to join us. Nine is our first priority, however. The show must go on!" Petyr smirked at Sansa. He added to Olyvar, "Set a date within this week. I'll be in my office, so you'll find me there. There's work to be done." 

Olyvar smiled wholeheartedly. "Nice to have you back, boss. I'll get on it. And Sansa, I'm so relieved that you're alright. You're our little wolf." 

Ros and Olyvar left soon after, and Sansa stood up stretching away from Petyr to retrieve her clothes. Petyr watched Sansa, his infamous smirk, engraved on his face. 

"Gods, Sansa. You don't know what you do to me." 

*      *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end!! Thank you so much for sticking with my story :) it means a lot to me. I'm always so unsure of my writing, so I'm extremely thankful for your comments and kudos. 
> 
> thanks lovelies!!


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